Testing Times
by Kazzoh
Summary: An old enemy is back in town with one objective – to kill Darien Fawkes.  Can his friends save him in time?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Testing Times

Author: Kazzoh

Rating: T

Summary: An old enemy is back in town with one objective – to kill Darien Fawkes. Can his friends save him in time?

Note: This is a sequel to 'Things Lost' and is set approximately nine months after the episode, 'The New Stuff'.

Chapter 1

_Ever since I had this damned gland implanted in my brain I've been collecting enemies like baseball cards. So, over the last couple of years I've tried to take the words of General Joseph Stilwell to heart - "Illegitimus non carborundum". Translation? Don't let the bastards grind you down. Good advice, but just how many times can you dust yourself off and get back in the game_?

A lone young man raced at full speed down the long, deserted city street. Darien Fawkes was running for his life and he knew it. Fear radiated from him like pure heat; if they caught him, his death would be swift and painful. Long, gangly legs ate up the ground, arms pumping frantically to try and increase the pace. Whatever Darien tried, he couldn't seem to shake them. They were close behind him and gaining fast. The faint hum emitted by his pursuers grew louder by the second and as his heart rate increased in response, he felt an all too familiar tingle. With a brief shimmer of silver, he disappeared from sight.

"Keep going, don't look back," a voice in his head encouraged. "You can do it, not much further."

Ignoring the burning ache deep in his lungs, Darien drew short, gasping, shuddering breaths and redoubled his efforts. His legs felt weighted with lead and he knew the primal urge to survive that had so far kept him fighting to stay alive was weakening. Adrenalin could keep you going beyond normal endurance, but it could only help for so long. Time was running out.

Darien knew he had to get off the street. It offered nowhere to hide, nowhere to take refuge. Turning into the next alley, he immediately realised his mistake. His steps faltered. There was no exit. The only way out was to return the way he'd come, and that wasn't an option. A door halfway up the alley was his only hope of salvation.

He rushed over and frantically tried the handle. It rattled ineffectually beneath his hand. Locked. Desperately Darien tried to force it open, but the door stood resolute against the pounding from his shoulder. Disturbances in the air behind him signalled their approach; he'd been found. The quicksilver hadn't fooled them for a second.

Turning slowly, Darien was faced with the heart-stopping sight of an amorphous swarm of giant bees directly behind him. He braced himself for the attack, but they just hung there, alert and poised, as if waiting for something. He edged to the right in an attempt to skirt around them, but they simply mimicked his move. A step to the left and they swung back to their original position. He was trapped.

A familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the alley and approached with measured, deliberate strides. He was wearing thermal goggles and a smile that would curdle milk. Quicksilver flaked from Darien's body like falling snow as he accepted the futility of further resistance. His chest heaved with the urgent need to draw air into his oxygen-starved lungs and his body quivered from exertion. Hair, slicked with sweat, fell limply into his dark, panic-filled eyes.

"Nice to see you Darien," Jared Stark purred evilly. "I told you I'd 'bee' back for you didn't I?"

If Darien had been in any fit state to reply, he would no doubt have been scathing about such a weak and obvious pun. As it was, he was paralysed with fear and incapable of coherent speech, his face a mask of absolute terror.

Stark slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out an electronic device that looked remarkably similar to Darien's tv remote control and started punching in a sequence of numbers with exaggerated precision. "Have a nice death," he gloated in a voice dripping with malice. As if to underline his last statement, Stark slammed his finger dramatically onto the final button of the code.

The calm hum emanating from the swarm suddenly changed. It was now a ferocious, buzzing cacophony. Darien had no time to react. The bees' frenzy increased to fever pitch and they swiftly descended to engulf him. Their stings stabbed and pierced his skin, depositing their venom with deadly accuracy. He could feel the poison coursing through his veins, burning like a fix of counteragent.

Pain became the full extent of his existence. It was difficult to concentrate, to breathe. Darien's ears were filled with a continuous high-pitched, agonising scream of torment. His vision blurred, the scene around him relentlessly spinning and whirling out of control. He staggered to try and maintain his balance, but his grip on reality was slipping. Everything became distant and muted and he finally succumbed to the pull of gravity, collapsing heavily to the ground.

Darien's final lucid thoughts were of his partner as darkness reaching out to claim him. Hobbes had never let him down before, but where was he now, at the end?

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Fawkes was dead! DEAD!

Bobby Hobbes burst through the front doors of the Harding building, stumbling awkwardly out onto the sidewalk in his haste to leave. He could feel events were spiralling out of his control and realised with a start that he'd forgotten to take his meds that morning. Retrieving a small bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket, he quickly swallowed two pills and willed them to take effect immediately. Now was not the time to go off the deep end.

Thoughts and questions tossed around within the confusing maelstrom of emotions raging in his mind. How could Fawkes do this to him? Why hadn't he insisted Darien accept the offer of a ride into work that morning? A change in one simple little detail and things could have worked out so differently.

He dodged roughly past the few people walking down the street in front of him and quickly jumped into the battered old van parked at the curb. Hobbes floored the gas pedal and Golda lurched into traffic before his door had a chance to close.

As the vehicle screeched away, Claire breathlessly emerged from the building, a troubled expression etched on her attractive face. "Bobby, wait…." she managed to call, before the van abruptly turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Not entirely convinced of his ability to control his temper in the present circumstances, she jogged to her SUV and decided to follow. She fervently hoped he wasn't going to do anything rash.

Hobbes weaved almost recklessly through the morning traffic; his years of experience in high-speed chases the only factor preventing potential disaster. The Official and Eberts were being totally unreasonable, how could they blame him for this? Their decision was so unfair, but then fairness and the Fat Man were veritable strangers in such situations.

Hobbes knew where the real fault lay and he had no doubt where the guilty party could be found, there wasn't even any need to spend time searching for him. Payback was due and Hobbes wasn't interested in waiting around for collection, now was the perfect time.

He made it to his destination in less than fifteen minutes, a new record, and practically threw himself out of the van. Managing to catch the door to the building as a young woman entered before him, he bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Approaching the door, Hobbes could hear faint moans coming from the apartment. This latest revelation re-ignited Hobbes' anger like fresh oxygen to a dying flame. The Official had just chewed him up and spit him out on the office floor like so much crap and that dirty bird was enjoying a trip to Naughtyville!

"Fawkes, open up right now, ya hear me? Open up!" Bobby yelled at the top of his voice.

His partner had been slipping back into his old habits for over a week now, ever since returning to full time duty. The Official's patience had disappeared faster than a Hershey bar at a chocoholics' convention, but Hobbes, thankful to have Fawkes back to full fitness, had made allowances and tried to play the peacemaker. Well, not any more, understanding was officially off the curriculum and it was time for a lesson in punctuality.

"Fawkes, I'm not gonna tell you again, open this door, or I'll break it down and drag your skinny ass out of bed by your freakin' troll hair," Bobby roared in his best 'don't mess with me' tone.

Still no response; this wasn't the way it was supposed to go down. He'd imagined coming over, banging on the door and a sleepy-eyed, tousle-haired Darien letting him in and listening remorsefully to an angry tirade on responsibility and respect for others. If the Fat Man insisted on blaming Bobby Hobbes for his partner's poor timekeeping and plundering his paycheck yet again, then he was going to make sure the younger man suffered his wrath.

A series of muted whimpers from inside the apartment suddenly pushed all thoughts of retribution from Hobbes' mind.

"Oh crap," he exclaimed, realising the sounds were ones of fear and not pleasure. Fawkes was in trouble. He fumbled in his pocket for the spare key Darien had given him over a year ago, but his hand froze when a long, desperate scream filled the air.

Hobbes' whole demeanour suddenly changed. He was immediately alert and, switching up a gear, he un-holstered his colt and kicked through the door in one swift, decisive movement. Thank God for Fawkes' lax security. Rushing into the apartment he was poised to neutralise any and all threats, but his steps faltered when he was confronted with a seemingly empty room.

Keeping his wits about him and the trigger of his colt cocked, he checked behind the kitchen counter and glanced through the bathroom door as he made his way over to the bed. A heap of blankets moved without apparent cause and as Bobby reached over, he felt the invisible form of his friend writhing beneath his hand.

"Hey, wake up there kiddo, you're having a bad dream," he said quietly, shaking the sleeping man's shoulder gently. When his attempts were only met with further whimpers, he shook his partner more firmly. "C'mon Fawkes, time to wake up."

That did it. Darien awoke with a startled yell and sat bolt upright in bed. His eyes were wild and unfocused and quicksilver fell around him like confetti as he became visible once again. Harsh, choking sobs escaped from lips still tingling with the vestiges of his scream; the images from his nightmare refusing to release their grip on his consciousness.

"Easy there pal, I got ya," Hobbes whispered soothingly, holding Darien as he swayed unsteadily. "It's over now, you're safe."

"Bobby…I…." Darien managed to croak, before falling silent to concentrate on trying to remember how to breathe.

"Bad?" Bobby asked quietly once his partner had calmed down enough to speak.

"Worst one yet," Darien admitted shakily, then, realising what he'd said, he tried to backtrack. "Um, I mean…." He began unconvincingly.

"So, that's what's been going on with you all this week," Bobby said with sudden realisation. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you, and besides Claire would…."

"Claire would what Darien?" came a voice from the doorway.

Looking up they saw the Keeper walking across the studio apartment towards the bed, a look of strong disapproval on her features.

"I, um…ah…." Darien squirmed guiltily under her stern gaze, feeling like a little boy found with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Well, that clears everything up doesn't it?" Claire replied sarcastically, before turning to Hobbes. "Could you nip down to my car and get my medical bag? It's in the trunk." She handed him the keys and watched as he made his way to the door. "Oh, and can you call the Official and tell him Darien's not feeling too well and might not be in today," she added as an afterthought. With a nod, Hobbes disappeared outside.

"Now," Claire began in a much gentler voice, noticing his still distressed state. "Are you going to tell me what's been going on and this time can we use proper words, preferably of more than one syllable?"

Darien sighed deeply, then resorted to a technique he'd successfully used since childhood when confronted with an over-emotional situation – fall back to supplementary position alpha, humour. "I guess I'm busted ain't I?" he replied with the exaggerated accent of a 1920s gangster.

"I'd say so, yes," Claire agreed with a slight smile. "But the question is, why did you feel the need to hide the fact you were having nightmares again?"

"I guess I just wanted everything to get back to normal and I knew you'd refuse to let me go back out in the field if you found out," he explained becoming serious once more. "And I didn't lie to you, they did stop for a while…it's just I never told you they started again a few days ago…but not every night." Darien offered this last piece of information as if it made all the difference in the world. In other words, because he wasn't having nightmares every night, it somehow wasn't as serious.

"What am I going to do with you Darien Fawkes?" his Keeper asked in exasperation.

"Oh, I dunno, maybe give me a hug to help make the monsters go away?" he replied with a hopeful twinkle in his eyes.

"Whoa there Penelope," came Hobbes' amused voice as he returned with the medical bag. "No fishing off the company pier, especially on company time."

Fawkes was looking much better than when he'd left and the Keeper's presence alleviated much of his own anxiety. Hobbes didn't want to shatter this comfortable atmosphere, but the Official had been adamant.

"The Fat Man needs us back in the office this afternoon," he informed his friends reluctantly. "Monroe's sources have confirmed that Stark's back in town and something big is about to go down this week. If we want to stop him, we have to meet her informant this evening and he's insisting Fawkes be there."

The three friends exchanged concerned glances, but knew there was nothing else they could do. In their dealings with him, Jared Stark had proven himself to be a conniving and ruthless opponent who would stop at nothing to further his own agenda. Any opportunity to thwart his plans had to be taken.

"Just let me check Darien over, then we can get ready to leave," Claire said to Hobbes in an uncompromising tone.

"Can this day get any worse?" Darien moaned unhappily, as he submitted to his Keeper's examination.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Fawkes, it's about time you turned up," the Official growled impatiently as Darien and Hobbes finally entered his office that afternoon. "The Keeper informs me I should take it easy on you, but I don't see why you having a few unpleasant dreams should impact on your work. May I suggest you refrain from eating cheese before bedtime, pull yourself together and stop wasting our time. You're a federal agent now and you should start acting like one!"

"Gee thanks for the concern there Boss," Darien drawled lazily as he eased himself into one of the empty chair's in front of the Fat Man's imposing desk. A refreshing shower, a pleasantly distracting conversation over lunch with a couple of good friends and he was feeling much better; a little boss baiting should move the recovery process along nicely. Casually placing his right leg over the arm of the chair, he slouched lower and adopted a look of studied disinterest.

Choosing to ignore Fawkes' careless disregard for propriety, Borden kept his expression neutral and addressed the assembled group.

"People, lets get down to business," he barked, then nodded to Eberts in the time-honoured indication that he wanted his second in command to take over the briefing.

"Harry Brubaker, the former associate of Jared Stark has contacted us again with an offer to provide further information." Eberts began smoothly. "It would seem our last payoff did not afford him the lifestyle he was hoping for and he is willing to help us further – for a price. Mr Brubaker has details of Stark's current activities and," he paused to look over at Darien before continuing, "in light of the threats he made three months ago, we believe it would be prudent to avail ourselves of this information."

Darien sat up slightly at this announcement, a look of concern quickly flashing across his face, but it was quickly hidden from view.

"A meeting has been arranged for five o'clock this afternoon and Brubaker is insisting he'll only deal with you and Fawkes," the Official said addressing Hobbes. "Seems you impressed him with your professionalism last time, though God alone knows why," he added, giving Fawkes a long-suffering glare.

Darien allowed himself a slight grin; he was getting to the Official after all. He looked over at Hobbes who was listening intently to the briefing, his face betraying the dark thoughts he harboured about one Jared Stark and the latter's inevitable date with a bullet.

Eberts stepped out from behind the desk and handed Hobbes a slip of paper and a plain black briefcase. "These are the instructions on how to reach the rendezvous point and the money needed to complete the transaction. Agent Monroe is already in position and will meet up with you there."

"Now get out there and get the job done," ordered the Official, dismissing them.

Hobbes stood immediately, Fawkes more slowly, but they turned together and left the office without a word.

"You okay there partner?" Hobbes asked as they made their way out of the building to the van.

"Stark's back in town, so what? Someone's always after a piece of me one way or another, I'm kinda getting used to it," Darien reassured him. He was suddenly stopped in his tracks as he bumped into something, or rather someone.

"Watch where you're going young man!" an old woman complained loudly, stabbing him in the calf with her umbrella. She turned and made her way unsteadily down the street, her angry mutterings about the inconsiderate youth of today echoing back to them.

Hobbes burst out laughing, "Yeah, you got that right my friend," he said agreeing with Fawkes' last statement. "Even grannies are attacking you now."

"Not funny," Darien moaned unhappily, bending down to rub his leg. "I think she drew blood!"

"C'mon Camille, we got work to do," Hobbes choked out, trying to stifle his laughter.

"Will you guys just shut the hell up? You're giving me a headache!" Darien snapped angrily three hours later. He rubbed vigorously at his tired eyes and sighed deeply. This day was turning into a total disaster and he just wanted to get home, crawl into bed and enjoy uninterrupted sleep for at least a week. If he wasn't being chased around in his dreams by killer bees, he was being attacked by irate old ladies wielding lethal umbrellas. His leg was still aching and, adding insult to injury, she'd managed to put a tear into his favourite pair of pants.

To top it all, his partner had been bickering with Alex ever since they'd joined her at the remote cliff-top parking area an hour earlier. Brubaker hadn't shown up and Hobbes was sniping about Monroe's contact screwing up the arrangements. As time passed, their argument was becoming increasingly heated and sitting there in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to distract him, Darien had decided enough was enough.

"If our Five Star A rated agent here would just admit this little excursion is a bust we could wrap the 'discussion' up right here and now," Hobbes asserted with obvious ire. "Who gave you this wonderful tip anyway Monroe?"

Alex gave him one of her more withering looks and answered haughtily, "There's still time for this to pan out Hobbes, and my source is as usual, _classified._"

Well that little comment was like throwing a lit match into a room full of fireworks. Darien rolled his eyes and let his head fall back to rest on the edge of the van seat, waiting for the explosion. Adding 'need to know' into the mix when Hobbes was in a mood like this was asking for trouble. His partner was just working himself up to the expected tirade when a car pulled up thirty yards away.

"There, see I told you he'd be here," Monroe gloated. "Go do your thing and don't screw it up. Maybe we can get back to town before dark and I can take a shower to wash off the stench from sitting in this rust bucket with you guys."

Hobbes shot her a baleful glare and exited the van, Darien right behind him. They quickly made their way over to where Brubaker stood leaning casually on his dark green sedan.

"Nice to see you again gentlemen, I believe you have something of interest to me there," Brubaker said, indicating the briefcase in Hobbes' grasp.

"Hold on a minute there bucko, I'll show you mine, if you show me yours," Hobbes replied genially.

Both men rested their cases on the roof of the car and opened them. Satisfied at the contents, a neat pile of files in one and sizable bundles of $100 dollar bills in the other, they nodded in agreement and made the exchange.

Hardly paying attention to the transaction, Darien's eye was caught by a couple of joggers heading towards them. Their easy, measured pace had suddenly increased to a full-on run and without warning they produced pistols from the waistbands of their shorts and carefully aimed them at the group.

"Hobbes, look out!" Darien screamed urgently, knocking his partner to the ground. With a shimmering of quicksilver, he coated their bodies and they disappeared from sight. Brubaker stood transfixed, unable to process what his eyes had just witnessed. Before he had time to react, bullets began ripping into his flesh, jerking his body around like a marionette performing a grotesque little dance.

"Not me…" he managed to croak desperately, before he hit the floor in a bloody heap.

The two hit men didn't even break their stride and sped off across the open ground towards the far end of the parking area.

Hobbes was up in seconds and hauling his still invisible partner to his feet.

"Fawkes, you circle round to cut them off to the right and I'll try and herd them towards you," he instructed Darien. "And keep out of my line of sight, I don't want to be putting any unintentional holes in you!"

"Will do," came Darien's disembodied voice as his footfalls could be heard heading away from the scene.

"Monroe, get backup and check on him." Hobbes shouted, pointing to the crumpled form by the car, then, he increased his pace to begin the chase in earnest.

The shooters obviously hadn't checked out the scene as thoroughly as Monroe and they were trying to wade through a fairly dense section of scrub and bushes. Heading closer to the cliff, Hobbes was able to make much quicker progress and was gaining fast. He fired two rapid shots and managed to hit one of the assailants. The man went down, but his companion continued on without a backward glance. Chrysalis didn't seem to have any concept of loyalty!

A cursory glance told Hobbes the injured man was out for the count, so he left him for Monroe and concentrated his efforts on catching the fleeing figure in front of him. Just as he was about to loose off another volley of bullets the man slammed into an invisible barrier and fell as if pole-axed. A shower of quicksilver revealed the reason for his downfall, when Darien reappeared sprawled in a particularly thorny patch of bushes. He was sporting a number of grazes and deep scratches and was fervently wishing he'd worn a jacket.

"Hey Brer Rabbit, you okay in that there briar patch?" asked Hobbes in amusement, busily cuffing the dazed gunman.

"Oh very funny Uncle Remus." Darien retorted wearily. "Just winded me, that's all. Ya think you could give me a hand?" he asked extending his arm.

Hobbes reached down to help him, but Darien suddenly started waving his hands frantically to ward off a large bee that had decided to take an interest in him. An irrational fear gripped him as visions of his nightmare intruded into his waking consciousness.

"Ouch!" he cried as the bee stung him just below his elbow. He swept it off, but the sting was still securely embedded in his skin.

"You shoulda stayed still," Hobbes said knowingly as he hauled Darien to his feet. "You just made it mad with all that flailing about."

"Thanks for the advice oh font of all knowledge," Darien grouched, preparing to remove the sting.

"Leave it," Hobbes advised, "I've got some tweezers in the first aid box back at the van and I can make sure we get it all out."

"Well, I guess we know what my nightmares were trying to tell me now," Darien said with a sigh, cradling his left arm. "Steer clear of anything to do with Jared Stark and don't mess with bad tempered giant insects!"

"Hold still will ya!" Hobbes ordered as he tended to his partner's cuts and scrapes. Fawkes was squirming around so much that he was having trouble applying the antiseptic. "Hey kid, you okay?" he asked worriedly, noticing Darien's pale face and pained expression.

"Um, I think I might've overdone the invisibility thing a little," Darien admitted reluctantly, massaging the back of his neck.

"But you can't have been invisible for more than ten minutes tops," Hobbes pointed out reasonably.

"Well…I've kinda been losing control of the gland…when I've been dreaming. I stop the flow when I wake up, but I don't know how long it's lasted." Darien closed his eyes and tried taking slow calming breaths.

"You should've said something, we coulda had the Keeper along for the ride," Hobbes said suggestively, trying to keep the mood light. "I'll check on Monroe and the clean up team, then we can get outta here, okay?"

"Okay," Darien replied through gritted teeth. The journey back to town was not going to be fun.

"Well, is it done?" Jared Stark demanded of the handsome young man who'd just entered his office.

"Yes Sir, Brubaker was neutralised, but I'm afraid we lost Gordon and Sinclair," he regretfully informed his employer, closing the door quietly.

"They were expendable," Stark said waving his hand dismissively. "At least Brubaker was able to serve a useful purpose before learning it doesn't pay to mess with my plans."

"I'm sure he never meant to jeopardise your recent coup attempt Sir," the young man assured him nervously. "I don't think he realised his dealings with the Agency would interfere with you in any way."

"Be that as it may, he sold sensitive information to the enemy and cost me a great deal of trouble, not the least of which was spending three days as a 'guest' of that tin-pot government agency." The edge of steel in his tone was unmistakable. "Had it not been for the loyalty of some of my supporters, I may well have been languishing in a jail cell right now."

"What about Fawkes?" Stark asked, changing to the subject of most interest to him. "Was the ruse successful?"

"Oh yes Sir, everything went according to plan," he replied, thankful that he didn't have bad news to relate.

Stark's face twisted in grim amusement. "Good, good, I think our dear Harry may well have won my forgiveness in death," he commented dryly. "What timeframe are we talking?"

"Agent Fawkes should be dead by morning."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"C'mon baby, I know you can give me more, just a little faster. C'mon, do it for daddy… there ya go!" Hobbes said encouragingly to his beat up old van as he tried to coax a little more speed out of her on the trip back to San Diego. "We're gonna get you a nice tune up and oil change when we get home." He was driving as fast as he could along the busy highway, but kept sneaking a glance over at Fawkes to check on his condition. The kid was being unusually quiet and most worryingly of all, he hadn't even attempted to make any smartass comments about the little pep talk to Golda.

"How you doing there pal, you okay?" Hobbes asked quietly, hoping he'd kept the anxiety out of his voice.

"Yeah," Darien muttered unconvincingly. He was rocking backwards and forwards slightly in his seat, hugging his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees. "How much longer?"

"About a half hour," Bobby replied, hating the fact there wasn't a damned thing he could do to help his partner until they made it back to the Keep. He was going to have a serious talk with Fawkes once this was all over about letting the Keeper try out her new relaxant. It wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, for any of them, but if the new stuff worked it would mean these mad dashes back to the Agency could become a thing of the past.

Darien let out an involuntary groan and pressed his hands to the back of his neck trying to force the pain out of his head. Hobbes cursed silently and attempted to push the gas pedal through the floor. With a sudden flash of inspiration, he felt inside his jacket, pulled out his cell phone and began to dial.

"Hey Keep," he began when the call was answered, "the kid's not doing too well, it's a bad one. Can you meet us half way? Yeah, Eberts can give you directions. I'll keep my eye out for you, thanks." Hearing Claire's calm, assured voice helped slow his racing pulse and he breathed a sigh of relief knowing his idea had at least shortened the time Fawkes would have to suffer.

"Not long now, Claire's on her way," he assured his partner comfortingly.

Darien heard the comment, but didn't respond. He was battling to control the pain and just staying upright in his seat was becoming a real challenge. Blocking everything else out of his mind he simply concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths and maintaining his balance. As a result, he hardly noticed when the van eventually pulled over and it wasn't until he felt Claire's gentle hand trying to move his arm that he was able to rouse himself slightly.

"Please…" Darien managed to gasp.

"It's alright sweetheart, I'm right here," said Claire soothingly. "Just a couple of seconds longer."

With Bobby's help, she managed to manoeuvre him so that she could administer the relaxant directly into the gland and the needle was slipped expertly into place. The drug began to take effect almost immediately and the pain slowly lessened. Unable to support himself any longer, Darien slumped onto his partner's shoulder. Time lost all meaning and he allowed his mind to drift in a comfortable semi-conscious haze.

"Darien, Darien." An insistent voice kept repeating his name, calling him back to full consciousness, but he didn't want to go back just yet, it was nice and peaceful here.

"Darien, come on sweetheart, open your eyes for me." The voices mumbling above him were becoming concerned. He didn't want to wake up, but he had to tell them he was okay.

"I think he's coming round," Claire announced with obvious relief. "Darien can you hear me?"

"Urngh." He'd meant to say 'Yeah I'm fine', but the effort of moving his lips was just too great.

"We're going to move you into my car so you can lie back and relax, alright?"

Darien managed to nod his head slightly and then felt himself being lifted out of the van and positioned in the front of Claire's SUV. She'd thoughtfully moved the chair and reclined the back, so he was almost horizontal. Hobbes moved over to secure the seatbelt and gave him a light pat on the shoulder.

"See you back at the Agency Fawkesy. Get some sleep okay?"

"Uh, huh," Darien murmured, allowing his eyes to close.

Bobby came round to the front of the car and looked over to Claire, noticing the deeply concerned look on her face.

"What is it, he's okay, right?"

"I don't know. He had me really worried there for a while. It shouldn't have taken him so long to come round. It was almost ten minutes. Even at his worst it's never taken that long before…I have to get him to the lab." Giving Bobby a quick hug she got into her car and set off back to the Agency.

Hobbes stood silently for a few minutes wondering what on earth was going on with the damned gland this time. He stretched out his arms to help relieve some of the tension in his shoulders and turned to climb in the van. As he rejoined the highway to follow the SUV he tried to push the paranoid whisperings to the back of his mind. Claire would sort things out, she always did.

"I understand you gave an Oscar winning performance my dear," Jared Stark remarked smugly to his wife as he greeted her at their front door.

"But of course darling and it was _so_ much fun," she replied with a broad smile on her face. "My indignant old lady routine was flawless, they didn't suspect a thing." Eleanor Stark draped her arms around her husband's shoulders and placed a light kiss on his cheek. "Where's Brandon?"

"He's attending class in the study," Stark informed her blithely, as if their son were simply watching the latest Scooby Doo video rather than being subjected to a highly sophisticated conditioning session. Although the Starks had broken away from Chrysalis, they still believed in its tenets and were once again working towards taking control. Their greatest hope was that one day Brandon would be able to follow his father as leader of the whole organisation.

Just then a sombre little boy with strawberry blond hair came toddling into the hall. He was dressed immaculately in charcoal grey shorts, white shirt and navy blue blazer.

"Mommy," the little boy said happily noticing Eleanor's return. He rushed towards her, hoping for a cuddle.

"Now, now Brandon," Stark admonished the child. "'We don't run in the house do we? And 'mommy' is a word babies use, not big boys like you."

Brandon slowed to a walk, a look of hurt and confusion on his small face. Given another few year of conditioning he would no doubt be a truly worthy member of Chrysalis, focused and ruthlessly loyal to their cause, but at the moment, though gene manipulation had ensured that he was an extremely bright child, his emotions were still those of any normal two year old.

"Sorry Sir," the little boy apologised contritely.

"Don't be sorry, just remember next time," his mother said with a smile, taking some of the sting out of her husband's words. "Now run along into the garden. Mr Peters will be waiting to go through your exercises with you."

Brandon looked longingly at his mother for a few seconds, then turned to leave. Hugs had been banned now that he was a big boy and his beloved teddy bear had been taken away weeks ago. He knew he shouldn't, but he still missed them terribly.

"Have you had an update yet?" Eleanor asked as soon as the child had disappeared outside.

"Brubaker lured them out of the city like he promised and was dealt with at the scene. Sinclair and Gordon were caught, but they were not important," Stark informed her. "The only danger was that Fawkes' Keeper might perform tests that could have revealed the toxin in his body before it had time to do any damage, however the plan to keep him away from the Agency was a complete success. I'm assured his demise will be fairly swift, but agonisingly painful and most importantly, the gland will be irreparably damaged and unsuitable for re-implantation."

"That's wonderful darling!" Eleanor said enthusiastically. "I can't believe Harry fell for your reconciliation speech though," she chuckled, returning to Brubaker's part in the affair. "The way he gushed his thanks for your forgiveness before he left was so funny, especially knowing what you had planned."

Stark nodded his agreement. "We ought to consider a career in acting, don't you think?" he suggested in an amused tone. "After all, we both played our parts magnificently!"

"I didn't make my world famous macaroni and cheese for you to just move it around your plate you know," Hobbes gently chided his friend later that night. He was sitting at the small table in Darien's apartment unsuccessfully trying to get his partner to eat something. "Where's that insatiable appetite we all know and love?" he joked. "I don't want to be kept awake if your stomach decides to rumble like Mount St Helene in the middle of the night."

"Sorry, I guess I'm not really very hungry tonight," Darien apologised wearily, too tired to think of a witty reply. Truth be told, he was feeling exhausted and achy after the day's events and just wanted to crawl into bed. However, the bath he'd taken earlier hadn't helped his aches and pains and moving across the apartment to the bed seemed like far too much effort right now.

"Are you sure you don't wanna go back to lab three to spend the night?" Hobbes suggested uneasily. "You don't look so hot." Claire had examined Darien on their return to the Keep, taken some blood, and was currently running a whole host of tests to try and alleviate her nagging worries about his health. She'd reluctantly agreed to let him go home after persistent pleading and unfair use of his puppy dog eyes had weakened her resolve. However, she had made him promise to rest and insisted Bobby stay to keep an eye on him.

Hobbes was fervently hoping her decision hadn't been a mistake.

"Honestly man I'm fine," Darien reiterated. "Just need to get some shuteye and I'll be ready for anything." He pushed himself up from the table to prevent any further discussion, but staggered slightly as he straightened up.

"Whoa there, take it easy," Hobbes said, moving to steady him. "You need a hand?"

"Thanks Bobby," Darien replied gratefully, accepting his friend's help without further comment. Hobbes scowled unhappily, where was the "No thanks," and the wiseass remark about having been able to walk unaided since he was one?

After settling Darien in bed and making sure he was asleep, Hobbes moved back to the kitchen to phone the Keeper.

"Hey Claire, it's Bobby," he said once she'd answered. "Is everything okay with the tests? He's asleep now, but he doesn't seem right to me. Nothin' I can put my finger on, but…" he broke off, not knowing how to voice his concerns. "Yeah, okay, let me know when you've got something, alright, see you in a couple of hours." He breathed a sigh of relief. Claire had agreed to come over and check on Darien as soon as she'd received the results from her tests. Hopefully he was just overreacting.

Hobbes moved over to the sofa and switched on the tv, to distract himself from further worry. After flicking through the channels he settled on an old Jimmy Cagney movie he'd seen countless times before and despite his determination to stay awake, he was soon fast asleep.

A loud thud on the apartment floor brought him back to full wakefulness some time later. He shot up from the sofa wondering what the hell had woken him and stared around the room. The only light was coming from the tv and he squinted through the semi-darkness.

"Bobby!" came a choked cry filled with fear and panic.

Flicking on the light switch Hobbes looked over to the bed and saw a figure lying sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath.

"Oh my God! Fawkes!" he exclaimed in horror.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"What do you mean the information is useless?" the Official demanded angrily, glowering at his assistant. Eberts had been busily assessing the contents of Brubaker's briefcase for hours, ever since Hobbes had informed them of the afternoon's events, but it didn't sound like there would be any good news forthcoming.

"Well Sir, I've managed to decrypt the files and I'm afraid it looks like Mr Brubaker deliberately set out to deceive us. The information simply details mundane administrative matters such as stationery requisitions and junior staff reassignments. There's really nothing of interest to us." Eberts placed a report of his findings in front of his boss. "Luckily the transaction was not completed when the attack occurred and we were able to recover our funds."

The Official scowled down at the typewritten document. "Well, I suppose that's something to be thankful for," he grumbled. "Have they managed to get anything out of the two gunmen yet?"

"They claim to be hired assassins and insist they never met their employer, with all communication allegedly being conducted over the phone," Eberts replied. "However, the Keeper has been able to use a DNA screening technique to confirm they are in fact members of Chrysalis. Considering Mr Brubaker's original reason for contacting us, it would be logical to assume that Tabitha's people finally caught up with him."

"Yes, I would have to agree with you there," the Official said looking up at Eberts. "What about Fawkes? Is he well enough to be debriefed?"

"The Keeper sent him home to rest and says he will report in tomorrow if he's feeling better," Eberts admitted reluctantly, unsure how his employer would take this particular piece of news.

"If? There's no 'if' about it, I want him in my office first thing in the morning or there'll be hell to pay, do you understand?" Borden snarled rubbing his temples furiously. "Christ, if I stayed home every time I had a bad headache I'd never be at work! Get him on the phone now!"

"Yes Sir," Eberts said promptly and walked over to the phone to dial Fawkes' number. Hearing only a busy signal he replaced the receiver.

"I'm afraid the line is busy Sir."

"So, he's well enough to chat to his friends, but not to us?" the Fat Man said with barely controlled anger. "Keep trying, I want to personally remind Mr Fawkes of his responsibilities."

Hobbes rushed across the apartment, his heart pounding so hard he thought it would explode.

"Hey buddy, what's wrong?" he asked anxiously, bending over his friend's prone form. Darien turned his flushed face towards his partner and struggled to rise. His dark brown eyes were wide with panic, chest heaving with a terrified urgency and sweat pouring down his face, stinging his eyes and making it difficult to focus.

"Bobby…can't…breathe," he managed to croak through harsh, shallow rasps. "Help…me…!"

Hobbes caught Darien's arm to stop him from slipping back to the floor and positioned him carefully against the side of the bed. "Easy there Fawkes, rest here, I won't be a minute." Bobby made to move away, but Darien clawed desperately at his arm.

"Don't…leave…" he gasped, his eyes reflecting the pleading in his voice.

"I'm not leaving, just gonna call the Keeper to get you fixed up, okay?" Hobbes assured him as he pulled clear of Darien's hand and hit the speed dial on the phone by the bed.

"Claire, the kid's having trouble breathing, what do I do?" he asked, fighting down his own sense of panic; there would be time for that later. Right now he had to concentrate on his partner. "Yeah, he's conscious, but…well he's breaking out in hives…other symptoms?…No I don't think so…okay, five minutes." He dropped the phone on the nightstand and turned back to Darien.

"She was already on her way, she'll be here in five," Hobbes said, trying to reassure him. "Take it easy, you gotta try and calm down, it'll help you breathe easier."

Darien let out a strangled groan and clutched at his stomach, toppling sideways to the floor. Hobbes moved round and cradled his friend's head in his lap.

"I got you buddy, stay with me here," Hobbes encouraged. Darien's eyes began to close and the harsh gasps were slowly fading; he hardly seemed to be drawing breath anymore. "Hey, c'mon man, stay with me, Claire's coming." Hobbes stared desperately at his friend, gently pushing the damp hair back from his face and willing him to hold on little longer.

"Look at me Fawkes!" he commanded when there was no response from his pleas. Darien's eyes fluttered and with tremendous effort he managed to open them, but they slid shut again almost immediately.

A loud knocking on the door announced the Keeper's arrival and Hobbes rushed to let her in.

"He's over there on the floor Keep, I can't tell if he's still breathing."

Claire knelt down next to Darien and quickly examined him, taking in the flushed face, hives and the weak, irregular pulse. With calm professionalism, she opened her bag and took out a syringe and a small vial. Injecting the liquid into Darien's arm she looked up at Bobby, who was hovering uncertainly next to them.

"I think it's anaphylaxis, probably caused by the bee sting he got this afternoon," she informed him with a puzzled look. "The trouble is, I've never known the reaction take so long before, it's usually almost immediate."

"Anafa…what?" Hobbes asked looking confused.

"Anaphylaxis, it's a severe allergic reaction to things like stings and bites, usually after an earlier exposure to the venom. Do you know if he's been stung before?"

Hobbes shook his head dumbly, staring down at his partner in surprise as thin tendrils of quicksilver began seeping across his skin. Within moments Darien was invisible.

"What the hell?" Hobbes exclaimed loudly.

"Don't worry," Claire said reassuringly, "I gave him epinephrine and it's triggered the quicksilver gland, I meant to warn you, sorry. He should begin to improve fairly rapidly now, his pulse is getting stronger already and he should be coming round soon." As if on cue, her patient let out a quiet moan and stirred next to her.

"Darien sweetheart, it's Claire. You've had a bad reaction to the bee sting, but you'll be fine now," she explained gently. "Do you think you can stop the flow of quicksilver for me?" He simply moaned again in response, but after a few seconds, silver flakes sprinkled from his body.

Darien lay there too exhausted to move, his face pale and drawn. There wasn't a single part of his body that didn't ache and it was still a struggle to breathe, but the tightness in his throat and chest seemed to be easing, allowing some much needed air to reach his burning lungs. He looked up into the concerned faces of his friends and flashed them a weak smile.

"C.c…cold," he managed to stutter hoarsely, beginning to shiver uncontrollably.

"Help me!" Claire called to Hobbes and they quickly lifted Darien onto the bed and pulled the covers up tightly around him.

"There's a small oxygen tank in the back of my car, can you get it for me?" she asked, pointing to the keys she'd dropped on the kitchen counter. "We'll get him stabilised here and let him rest for a while, but then we need to get back to the lab." Turning back to Darien, she kicked off her shoes and slipped under the covers, drawing him into her arms. "Let's see if we can warm you up a little."

A hint of a chuckle escaped Darien's lips at this comment and Claire cuffed him lightly on his shoulder. "Well, I can see you're starting to feel better," she laughed. "Just don't be getting any ideas alright? This is purely for medical reasons."

As soon as Hobbes returned, Claire positioned the oxygen mask over Darien's face and watched as his laboured breathing eased considerably. Once he was settled and sleeping comfortably, Claire and Bobby walked over to the kitchen.

"Coffee?" Hobbes asked.

"Yes please, I need something to keep me awake," she answered with a sigh and sat down wearily on one of the stools by the counter.

"Yeah, you look wiped. Why don't you get a couple of hours on the sofa?" Bobby suggested as he took a couple of mugs out of the cupboard.

"We really should go back to the Keep," Claire replied reluctantly, staring at the sofa with longing. "I was on my way over to persuade Darien to come back and let me do some more tests when I got your call. The results from his blood work this afternoon were puzzling and after what just happened, I'm wondering if the bee venom is somehow adversely reacting with the quicksilver."

Hobbes placed a hot mug of coffee in front of her. "Well he seems fine now, thanks to you. Besides, we'd have to wake him up to move him, right? Why don't we leave him for a while and you can get some rest too. You won't be any use to him if you wear yourself out," he said reasonably. "I'll keep my eye on him."

"Well…I suppose it won't hurt if we wait a couple of hours. Darien hasn't been sleeping very well lately and it would be a shame to disturb him" Claire mused. "Alright, but wake me if there's any change in his condition."

"Sure thing Keepy," Hobbes agreed quickly. "I'll just get you some blankets."

"Keep, I need you!" Hobbes called urgently, his voice dragging Claire from a deep sleep.

"What…?" she asked groggily, trying to remember why she was lying on Darien's sofa. "Oh, Darien!" she exclaimed jumping to her feet as the events of earlier came rushing back. She looked over to the bed and saw him thrashing about, his body tangled in the blankets and his face contorted in pain.

"He just started mumbling and rolling about and I thought it was another nightmare, but he seems to be in pain. Is it happening again?" Hobbes asked anxiously.

"I don't think so, this seems to be something different," she said distractedly. "Darien, wake up, it's Claire. Darien come on honey, it's time to wake up," she repeated shaking him gently.

Darien awoke with a groan, immediately wrapping his arms round his stomach and curling into a ball. "Hurts!" he moaned.

"Where, your stomach?" Claire asked, reaching out to turn him and get a closer look.

"Everywhere…argh!" Darien squirmed to shrug out of her hold; even her gentle touch made his skin burn as though it was on fire.

"We need to get him to the Keep now. Can you carry him?"

"No problem," Hobbes asserted confidently, but he pulled back almost immediately when Darien screamed in agony. "Can't you give him something for the pain?" he asked half frantic with worry and guilt. Why hadn't he agreed to them returning to the Agency earlier?

"I don't dare. I've no idea what's going on and it could compound the problem," Claire said regretfully. "Just be as quick as you can alright?"

"No, please…Bobby don't…" Darien begged as Hobbes reached down again.

"Sorry kid, but it's the only way, hang on," he said picking his partner off the bed.

Darien let out a gut-wrenching scream and collapsed against Hobbes' shoulder as he lost consciousness.

"Oh, thank God," Claire whispered in relief, checking Darien's pulse. "Hurry Bobby."

"Sir, we've just received news that Mr Fawkes was rushed to the Agency in the early hours of this morning. He appeared to be very ill," a smartly dressed young man informed his employer.

"Excellent news Wilson!" Stark replied in a triumphant voice. Checking his watch he allowed an evil looking smile to spread across his face. If Dr Carter's calculations were correct, he should be dead by now. "Was he in pain?"

"I understand he was unconscious Sir," the young man answered apologetically.

"Oh, how disappointing, but then you can't have everything can you?" He allowed himself a little time to savour the moment then said, "I think a large floral tribute would be in order, don't you?"

"Stark! That evil, slimy rat bastard is going to pay for this!" Hobbes stormed as he glared at the traditional funeral wreath of red and white carnations that had been delivered to the Agency earlier. "I shoulda known he was involved!" He leaned forward and tore the silk ribbon with R.I.P. emblazoned on it from the middle of the arrangement. "When I catch up with him I'm gonna stuff this ribbon right down his throat before I rip out his heart!"

"You'd better make sure you leave some of him for me," Claire said with menace in her voice. She was sitting at her desk re-reading the condolence card they'd found attached to the wreath and cold fury was coursing though her veins. It read:

"I do hope Darien had a suitably agonising death. A great deal of planning and expense went into making sure we could elicit maximum suffering in the limited time span available. I regret not being there to witness it in person, but I'm assured my money was well spent. Sorry I had to destroy your gland in the process, but I really couldn't risk you having another Invisible Man to meddle in my plans now could I?"

Claire looked over to where Darien lay pale and unmoving. She'd battled all morning to stabilise his condition, but everything she'd tried had simply led to another problem. Whatever Stark had used on Darien had severely affected the regulation of his autonomic nervous system and they'd been forced to place him on full life-support to keep him alive. It had bought them some time, but after hours of work she was no nearer finding a solution.

"Bobby I think we're going to lose him," Claire suddenly sobbed in despair, the events of the past few days threatening to overwhelm her. "I don't think he has much time left and I have no idea how the damage is being caused, never mind how to stop it."

"Hey, hey, don't give up on him Keep, the kid's a fighter an' so are you," Hobbes said soothingly, his anger temporarily forgotten. "I know you'll work it out," He pulled her to her feet and gave her a hug. Claire clung to him, needing the comfort he was offering and finally allowing the tears to flow.

"Thanks Bobby," she said a few minutes later as she pulled away and dashed the last traces of moisture from her face, "I needed that."

"Any time there Keepy," Hobbes answered with a wink, trying to keep the mood light. "Now how about taking a break? I'll watch him for a while."

Claire smiled gratefully and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. "You're a lifesaver Bobby, I'll be back in five minutes."

Hobbes drew up a chair and sat next to Darien's bed, looking down at his friend. God he looked so young and vulnerable lying there.

"C'mon buddy, fight this thing will ya?" he said, praying that Darien would hear his words and respond. "We can't let Stark win. You need to get well so we can take the bastard down together, once and for all." Taking hold of Fawkes hand he suddenly froze as his brain tried to process what his eyes were seeing.

"What the…?" he muttered, gaping down at Darien's tattoo in disbelief.

The snake that had remained totally green since Claire administered the cure for quicksilver madness was changing. It now had four red segments!

"Aw crap," he whispered.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Please calm down Bobby, I need to concentrate," Claire pleaded as a very agitated Hobbes prowled back and forth across the lab. She could tell he was barely holding it together and in real danger of freaking out over the revelation that Darien's tattoo was slowly turning red. To be perfectly honest she couldn't blame him. It was both upsetting and disconcerting to watch the green snake once again slowly and inexorably changing colour. The implications for her Kept if it signalled the return of QSM didn't bear thinking about.

"Calm down? My best friend's been screwed over by a freakin' psycho and you want me to calm down? Even if you can save him, d'ya think he's gonna want to live like this?" Hobbes ranted as he continued pacing. "You know what this'll do to him Keep, how're we gonna tell him? He BEGGED me to kill him last time he thought the madness was returning - damn near broke my heart!"

"I know it's terrible, but we will deal with it Bobby, I promise," Claire said trying her best to reassure him. Admittedly her own thoughts kept straying along the same depressing lines, but she refused to give in to despair. "Darien is going to need us to be strong for him and we can't waste time on what-ifs. Right now I think this new development may well help me save his life."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked, surprise temporarily quelling his anger and frustration.

"Well, until now I had no idea what Stark did to him, but it must have something to do with a toxin linked to the quicksilver or it wouldn't have triggered the indicator in the tattoo. I have somewhere to start looking now and I think I've found where they infected him," she explained, pointing to an inflamed puncture wound on Darien's right calf.

"The woman with the umbrella!" Hobbes exclaimed, finally realising the truth. "She stuck Fawkes with it when he bumped into her outside the Agency yesterday. I thought she was just a crazy old dame, but she must have been waiting for us."

"Oh Bobby I wish you'd told me. When I was a child I remember a man in London being killed by a poisoned pellet administered in exactly the same way. The details are a bit hazy, but I think he was a foreign diplomat or something and it was such an unusual case that I've never forgotten it." Claire silently cursed herself for taking Darien's dream too literally and being so distracted by the bee sting that she'd discounted any other cause. His pre-cognitive flashes were hardly ever clear-cut and a deliberate stab from a sharp object by one of Stark's people could easily be interpreted as a 'sting'.

"I have to get to work," she announced decisively, eager to explore her new theory. "Alex hasn't been able to find any further information about the two gunmen from yesterday's attack, so maybe you could both concentrate on tracing the old woman."

Hobbes considered her suggestion for a moment, then, headed for the door. "Yeah Keep, I think you're right," he said with renewed purpose. "Look after the kid and let me know if there's any change won't you?"

"I will, take care," Claire replied congratulating herself on successfully distracting Bobby's attention from simply obsessing about his partner. He always coped better with these situations when he had something to focus on, and if anyone could pick up the old lady's trail Bobby could. With a smile she turned back to the sample she was analysing, at last hopeful of finding a treatment for Darien's condition.

"So the bee sting saved Fawkes' life?" the Official asked late that afternoon as he, Claire, Hobbes and Eberts all congregated in his office for an update on Darien's condition.

"You could say that, yes," the Keeper confirmed. "The toxin was specifically designed to perfectly bond with the quicksilver on a molecular level and would have been virtually undetectable had it succeeded. However, it seems the bee venom somehow prevented the toxin from fully integrating into the quicksilver's structure and caused an adverse reaction, giving us enough warning to get Darien onto life-support. I'm sure the attack on his vital systems would have been much more rapid and virulent if the process hadn't been disrupted. As it is, I've managed to isolate a sample of the toxin and I believe the adaptation I'm making to our original counteragent will flush the contaminated quicksilver from his bloodstream."

"Well done Doctor, I had every faith you would solve this latest crisis," the Official said, praising her efforts.

"Actually Sir, Agent Hobbes' acute observational skills gave me the clue I needed to come up with a solution," Claire said, making sure Bobby got the recognition he deserved.

"Yes, well, good work Hobbes," the Fat Man muttered grudgingly, casting a quick glance at the smiling agent. "How long before you can administer the treatment?"

"I'm adapting a batch of counteragent I was already synthesising for use in tests with my rats, so thankfully the timeframe has been reduced considerably. I'd estimate it should be ready within the next hour or so," Claire replied, a look of deep concern appearing on her face. "However, I don't think Darien has much time left and we really can't afford to test the new formula. Even if it does work, there's no saying what damage the toxin has already caused and Stark himself told us destroying the gland was one of his objectives. I don't think we're out of the woods yet."

"We've already contacted Fawkes' aunt and grandmother to apprise them of the situation…just in case," the Official informed them with a grim expression.

"Getting in touch with his father is proving to be more of a challenge," Eberts continued smoothly, "but we have discreetly disseminated the information to sources Mason Fawkes is known to have access to. That's all we can do for now."

An air of sombre contemplation had settled on the assembled group when there was a sharp rap on the Official's glass door and Alex Monroe swept into the room.

"Sir, look at these!" she said breathlessly, handing him some stills of local street scenes. "Hobbes and I canvassed the area for any businesses that might have surveillance footage outside their buildings from yesterday afternoon and I've just finished enhancing the most promising images." The one at the top of the pile showed a street two blocks away. Pointing to it she said, "If I'm not mistaken the 'old lady' here is actually Eleanor Stark and 'that'," she announced, emphasising the word strongly, "is her car, with a nice clear shot of the license plate!"

Pain was the first sensation that registered as Darien slowly struggled back to consciousness. Not the excruciating agony he'd experienced to send him into oblivion at his apartment, but a nagging, persistent pain, more like a bad toothache that spread throughout his whole body and infinitely more bearable. He experimentally opened one eye, then the other and slowly focused on his surroundings. Lab three, right? Yeah, there were still a couple of posters Hobbes had brought in to brighten the place up during his recovery a few months ago. He moved his head to the right, immediately realising it wasn't a good idea when his vision blurred and the pain in his head flared in protest.

"Urgh," he moaned weakly, quickly closing his eyes again.

"Darien? Hey buddy, you back with us?" Hobbes' worried voice enquired tentatively.

'Uh, oh,' Darien thought. Things must be really bad if Hobbes was calling him by his first name!

"Ye…yeah," he managed to croak. His throat felt like someone had been trying to shred it with a knife and his mouth was as dry as dust. Looking up he saw Hobbes and his Keeper standing over him, their expressions a strange mixture of concern and relief. What the hell had happened this time?

"Don't try and talk just yet, take a sip of this," Claire said, sensing his confusion. She placed a straw in his mouth and helped him take a drink of water. "We had to help you breathe for while, so you're going to feel some discomfort when you swallow. It's nothing to worry about and you'll soon be feeling better alright?" Deciding not to try and move his head again, Darien smiled weakly in reply.

"Stark's been up to his usual tricks pal," Hobbes explained, deliberately understating the situation. "Seems he decided to make good on his threat to kill you, but the Keeper's got things under control, haven't you Keep?" he said looking over at Claire. Hobbes' light tone sounded false even to his own ears and he could see the doubt in Darien's expressive eyes.

"Bobby's right Darien," Claire confirmed in a more confident tone, also noticing his uncertainty. "We've started flushing the toxin you were exposed to out of your body and you're vital signs are already improving." They needed Darien to stay positive if he was going to fight this thing and letting him know they were worried about the success of the treatment, never mind the full extent of his injuries, would only complicate matters.

Darien felt a welcome release of tension he didn't even realise he was feeling and visibly relaxed at her words. He trusted Claire with his life and her assertion everything would be fine was all the assurance he needed. Suddenly feeling an overwhelming exhaustion, his eyelids began to droop and he could do nothing but allow them to close. Sleep claimed him within seconds.

Hobbes and the Keeper exchanged worried glances and jumped as the intercom buzzed, followed by Ebert's apologetic voice. "I'm sorry to bother you doctor, but the Official would like you and Robert to report to his office as soon as possible."

"We'll be right there Albert," Claire answered promptly. Checking that Darien was resting peacefully, she linked Bobby's arm and they left the lab together.

Alex was already in the Official's office when Claire and Hobbes entered five minutes later. She was restlessly crossing and uncrossing her legs, constantly smoothing her skirt with her hands and squirming in her seat like a young girl waiting for the arrival of a Prom date. She could barely contain her excitement and was eager to share the news that had just come through.

For the past three days, whilst the Keeper was involved in trying to cure Darien, she and Hobbes had been engaged in a convoluted and challenging search inspired by the licence plate on Eleanor Stark's car. Armed with information provided by Hobbesnet from the scene of the incident, they had questioned every useful contact in Alex's bulging rolodex and called in outstanding favours. Hour after hour they'd collated data, assessed the validity of rumours and acted on gut instincts to further their investigation and in the end it had all been worth it; they finally had a location for Jared and Eleanor Stark and initial reports indicated that James was with them.

"We've found him, we've found James!" Alex practically crowed jumping from her chair and hugging Claire. They'd become good friends over the last year or so, but she seldom showed so much emotion and it surprised the assembled group. "Sorry," she apologised, looking disconcerted at her lack of control and dropping her arms to her sides.

"Don't apologise Alex, that's wonderful news," Claire enthused, placing a hand on Alex's shoulder to renew the contact. "What happens now?"

"Well if you two ladies will stop gushing all over the office I'd like to get this meeting called to order," the Official said, trying to sound angry, but failing to put the usual edge into his voice.

Eberts moved forward and distributed the information Alex and Hobbes had managed to collect together. "It seems Mr Stark and his family have recently taken up residence on a sizable estate in a very prestigious area of Los Angeles. We have very little intelligence on the area at the moment, but although the initial recon was only cursory, it suggest the grounds are heavily fortified." Eberts scowled down at the report in his hands, wishing the situation were more hopeful.

"So, when do we go in?" Hobbes asked, the news about formidable defences not deterring him for a second. He was more than happy about finding James, but the most important thing in his book was that Stark had been found too and payback was long overdue.

"Whether we are able to take advantage of this opportunity or not depends on when Fawkes will be fit for duty," the Official pointed out. "Even though the preliminary report is sketchy, I don't think a frontal attack has any chance of success, not to mention the threat of drawing unnecessary attention from their rich and influential neighbours. We need to infiltrate the estate covertly and Fawkes' talents in that field will be invaluable." Borden's tactical expertise had won him many accolades whilst in the Marines and he was using that knowledge to good effect now. "Stark believes Fawkes is dead and we can use that to our full advantage. Without the threat of an invisible man they won't be equipped with thermal goggles and we'll have the element of surprise on our side."

"Sir, you can't be serious about using Darien on this mission surely?" Claire asked incredulously. "He's still very weak and as you know the contaminated quicksilver is proving much more difficult to flush from his system than I originally estimated. The indicator tattoo reached eight red segments before the treatment started to work and there are still five segments to go before the return to full green. It's going to take a series of injections over the next week to fully eradicate the toxin, but even then there are a multitude of tests to run to evaluate the extent of the damage caused. We may not know if there will be any lasting repercussions for some time yet."

"I have every confidence in you doctor," the Official answered blithely. "Fawkes has shown himself to be extremely resilient over the years and I have no doubt he will do so again."

Claire sighed in exasperation, then tried again. "I don't think you understand Sir," she began. "Even if I wasn't extremely concerned about Darien's condition, there's also the implications for the gland itself. The PET scan I took showed definite signs of damage to the gland, especially where it is grafted to the cerebral cortex, and I'm not sure of its ability to regenerate. The biosynthetic structure was never designed to cope with such an attack and, as with so many things about this project, we're in uncharted territory."

A deathly silence fell upon the room as the group tried to process this latest information. Claire had told Bobby about her concerns, but it was the first time she had shared her fears with the others.

"So, when will you know anything?" the Official asked, finally finding his voice.

"I really can't give you an accurate answer. It could be a week, it could be six months, we'll just have to be patient and see what develops," Claire informed him. "Now that Darien has regained consciousness I have a number of tests I can perform, but his body has been through a tremendous ordeal and we really have no choice but to give him time to heal."

"Well, I see no further point continuing with this briefing until we know where we stand, so make yourselves useful and see what you can come up with," the Official growled dispiritedly, closing his file to signal their dismissal.

As they headed for the door, Claire put her arm around an obviously distressed Alex. "Come down and see Darien," she suggested, hoping to distract her friend from dwelling on yet another delay in reclaiming her son. "I think he'd enjoy having a visitor."

Alex nodded dumbly and allowed herself to be steered towards lab three.

"Don't worry Monroe," Hobbes said squeezing her arm, "Stark's not going anywhere. He'll be enjoying his 'victory' over us for a while yet and he has no idea we've found him. We'll think of something and James'll be back with you before you know it."

She gave him a wan smile and not for the first time, whispered a silent prayer of thanks for having found such supportive friends at the Agency.

Walking through the door into lab three they all came to a sudden, surprised halt. Darien's bed was empty, a chair and trolley had been tipped over and instruments were strewn all over the floor.

"Oh my God," Alex breathed, quickly moving forward to pick up a piece of paper that lay on the bedcovers. "It's from Darien," she announced in a confused tone.

"What does it say?" Hobbes asked, a sense of foreboding chilling his blood.

Alex looked down at the shakily written note, "It just says, 'Why didn't you tell me?' and then he's scrawled, 'I'm sorry' at the bottom."

"Oh no!" Claire exclaimed fearfully. "Bobby, I think he's going to kill himself!"

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_**Earlier in lab three…**_

Darien awoke suddenly, jerking involuntarily from the shock of a loud clatter next to his bed. "Ugh!" he groaned as his aching body protested strongly to the movement and he sank back against the pillows.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Agent Fawkes!" a dark haired young woman apologised, rushing over to his side. "Are you alright?" Darien nodded with a slight grimace and she sighed in obvious relief. "Doctor Keeply asked me to look in on you and I'm afraid I bumped into the instrument tray." She pointed down at the mess of equipment strewn around on the floor, shrugged her shoulders and smiled, "Unfortunately 'clumsy' is my middle name!"

"First name…Lucy, right?" Darien asked in amusement, his voice a rough whisper.

Lucy's smile turned into a gratified grin. "Yes that's right. I'm surprised you remember me Agent Fawkes, you were pretty much out of it the last time we met," she replied, referring to her part in his care after his kidnapping ordeal.

"Call me Darien, and don't worry, I'd have to be dead not to remember you," he replied with a weak smile of his own.

Lucy blushed furiously and began to giggle, but any opportunity to develop a promising flirting session was interrupted by the arrival of a breathless agent at the door.

"Sorry to bother you," the man began hurriedly, addressing Lucy. "Daniels has cut his hand but the Keeper's in an important meeting and can't be disturbed, can you come and check it out?"

A look of uncertainty crossed her face and she glanced over at Darien in concern. "I don't know…I'm supposed to stay here until Doctor Keeply comes back."

"Go ahead, I'll be okay," Darien insisted.

"Well, if you're sure…." Lucy said, still not totally convinced she should leave him alone.

"Yeah, no problem," he assured her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay then," she agreed reluctantly. "Do you need anything?"

Darien shook his head and watched with relief as they finally left. His half-hearted attempt to engage Lucy in conversation had been more taxing than it had a right to be, leaving him exhausted and desperate for sleep. Wearily he lifted his right hand up to rake his fingers through his dishevelled hair, but froze as he caught sight of a blur of red where only green should be. He stared down at his wrist and blinked in stunned disbelief as the blurry image slowly came into focus. Five red segments…how could that be?

Darien's eyes widened with terror and his heart began hammering remorselessly against his ribs. "No, no, no, no, no…." he muttered mantra-like, desperately scrubbing at the tattoo with his other hand, hoping the erase the hateful colour. The fleeting thought that this was all just a sick joke and wasn't really happening offered no comfort as the truth of the situation dawned on him. Ever since the gene therapy had freed him from quicksilver madness there had been a nagging dread at the edge of his consciousness; what if the treatment only proved to be a temporary cure? It looked like his worst fears were now finally confirmed, with the red stain of approaching madness already covering half of his tattoo.

Gripped by a sudden panic that Claire and Bobby would return before he could carry out the plan hastily forming in his mind, he quickly scrawled a note to his friends and managed to slide his feet to the floor, using the chair next to his bed for support. He had to get away now, they'd stop him if they knew what he was planning and he couldn't allow that. After two years of having to helplessly acquiesce to the whims of the Official, Claire had finally given him back control over his own life and there was no way he could return to those days. The thought of once again living every day in terror of losing control and hurting someone was unbearable.

As he took a step towards the door the motion caused his head to spin and his vision to blur. He leaned more heavily against the back of the chair, but it couldn't support his weight and tipped over, sending him tumbling to the floor. Whimpering in pain, he slowly righted himself and put a hand up to his forehead where it had come into contact with the overturned instrument tray. Warm blood coated his fingertips from a small cut along his hairline. Undeterred, he managed to stagger to the door, hugging the doorpost to catch his breath before turning to head down the hallway.

Using the wall to hold himself upright Darien made his way to the nearby elevator, where he pushed the button and concentrated on keeping his shaking limbs under control. After what seemed like an interminably long time, the elevator car arrived and he stumbled inside, selecting the top floor with trembling fingers. With a jolt it started to ascend and he sank gratefully to the floor, comforted by the thought that it would all be over soon.

"I knew it, I knew he'd go and do something stupid if he saw the snake!" Hobbes wailed loudly. "We shoulda told him…I shoulda told him…. Why did I leave him alone?"

"He wasn't alone, or at least he wasn't supposed to be," Claire said, trying to make sense of what was happening. "I asked one of my nurses to sit with him."

"Well, where is she then?" Bobby asked before a sudden thought struck him. "You don't think Fawkes…." his voice trailed away, unable to voice his concern that his partner might have hurt the woman.

"Of course not Bobby!" Claire exclaimed, shocked he could think such a thing. "It's much more likely he tricked her into running an errand for him or something. You know how persuasive he can be."

"Yeah, sorry I guess you're right," he replied, realising the stupidity of his words. There was no way Fawkes would intentionally hurt an innocent person, not without suffering from the effects of quicksilver madness.

"We just need to calm down and think about this logically," Alex said, recovering her composure. "He's in no condition to be up and around, so he can't have gotten very far. Claire, you try and find your nurse, Hobbes you check the other rooms on this floor. I'll let the Official know what's going on and check in with the guards at the entrance, okay?"

Claire and Hobbes nodded their agreement and turned to leave. Alex allowed herself a small smile; it said something about the developing relationship with her colleagues at the Agency that neither of them had questioned her orders. There had been a time, not so long ago, when Hobbes would have bristled at her taking charge and very vocally registered his disapproval at what he perceived as her high-handedness. Now they were very much a team and it didn't matter who came up with the ideas, as long as they achieved the desired results.

"Wait a minute," Hobbes said urgently just as he was about to exit the room. "Look at this." Claire and Alex stepped forward to examine the small smear of blood he'd noticed on the doorpost. He moved outside and saw another telltale sign of Darien's progress a little further down the hallway. They continued along until they reached the elevator, where there was just a trace of blood on the control panel.

"Where's he going?" Alex asked in exasperation.

Hobbes and Claire exchanged worried glances, then, as realisation dawned they exclaimed together, "The roof!"

Alex jabbed repeatedly at the button to call the elevator car, but the ancient machinery seemed to groan and whir agonisingly slowly.

"Come on, come on, come on," Hobbes urged in frustration. Why was it taking so long? Deciding he needed to take more affirmative action he swiftly turned around and headed for the stairs. "I'll meet you up there!" he called back over his shoulder, taking the steps three at a time in his haste to get to his partner.

By the time he reached the top floor of the building, his chest was heaving from the exertion, but he didn't pause and headed straight for the small staircase that led to the roof. As he approached, he felt a chill wind blowing down through the open door at the top. It looked like their hunch had been right. Making his way cautiously he took deep calming breaths to slow his racing heart; he needed to be more composed if he was going to have to talk Fawkes down.

Once at the top, he quietly pushed the door wide and looked outside. He immediately caught sight of Darien clutching onto the low wall at the edge of the roof, his trembling legs barely supporting his weight. Without thinking, Hobbes stepped through the door and made his way over to his friend.

"Hey there Fawkesy," Hobbes called in a conversational tone, "if you wanted to get some fresh air all you had to do was ask. We coulda done a few laps of the block before bedtime in that wheelchair o' yours."

Darien didn't move for a few seconds then half-turned to stare over at Hobbes, his dark eyes filled with despair. "I couldn't do it Bobby," he sobbed, allowing himself to slide slowly down the wall to the ground. "I wanted to, but I just couldn't do it!"

"Well, I'd say it just goes to prove that somewhere in your thick skull there's a little bit of common sense rattlin' around, wouldn't you?" Hobbes replied with a forced smile, moving to sit next to his friend. "You had me a little worried there for a while kiddo. Isn't it bad enough I'm practically bald? Now you're tryin' to turn what little hair I do have left white over night!"

Darien didn't respond to Hobbes' attempts at humour and simply looked at him with tear filled eyes. "Why did you lie to me?" he asked, the hurt evident in his tone. At Bobby's blank stare he held out his right wrist to reveal the tattoo and continued, "You said everything was going to be okay, but how can it be? I can't live like that again, but I don't even have the guts to kill myself!"

Hobbes placed a comforting hand on his friend's arm and felt him shivering through the flimsy fabric of the pyjama top. Quickly taking off his jacket he wrapped it around Darien's shoulders to try and warm him up. "Not exactly dressed for the occasion are you my friend? Why don't we go inside and talk about this?"

"No, just leave me alone," Darien replied in a dull monotone. Hobbes recognised his friend's expression, it was the same one he'd seen at Kevin's graveside after the whole memory RNA disaster; like a beaten and confused puppy desperate to understand why it was being treated so badly.

"I didn't lie to you buddy, you ARE gonna be fine," Hobbes stated with conviction, beckoning Claire over. She and Alex had just arrived and were standing uncertainly by the door.

Approaching slowly, as if afraid she would spook Darien into doing something rash, Claire spoke up, "Bobby's right sweetheart, you're not going quicksilver mad, I've been running some test and I'm sure of it." She knelt at his side and took hold of his cold hand, staring earnestly into his despondent eyes. "There's a similar toxin in your bloodstream to the one the gland used to produce and that's why the indicator tattoo was triggered. However, it's not affecting your higher cortical functions and, although it looks like it may have caused some damage, it isn't altering the quicksilver the gland is producing until after it's in your system. Once we manage to flush out all the toxin Stark had injected into you, your tattoo will be completely green again and things will be back to normal."

"D..d..damage?" Darien stuttered, the cold night wind beginning to chill him to the bone. Part of him wanted to laugh at Claire's idea of what was normal, but he needed to know what she meant by the rest of her statement.

"I won't lie to you Darien, I don't know everything about your condition yet, but I do know quicksilver madness is in your past, alright? Please don't let Stark win by giving up now, we'll get through this together, I promise."

Darien sat there unmoving, hope warring with his fear and suspicion. It all came down to a matter of trust. Were his friends telling him the truth or just giving him false hope to persuade him to go back inside? His instincts were telling him to trust them, but was that just his natural will to survive asserting itself?

"Please Darien, I need your help" Alex said, stepping forward so he could see her. She knew there was a battle raging in his mind and instinctively felt he wouldn't be able to resist an appeal for assistance. He'd proven time and again that he could put aside his own concerns when someone else needed his help.

"We've tracked down Stark and…James is with him," she continued, her voice catching in her throat at the mention of her son's name. "They're holed up on a large estate with more firepower than a small country and a security system that's second to none. I need you to get me inside." Some of her own desperation crept into her voice. "You're my only hope of getting James back while there's still a chance we can stop him turning into another Chrysalis clone, please…."

Darien closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him, trying to focus his mind. There were too many conflicting thoughts and ideas flying around in his brain to think straight. Even if he hadn't been ill, it would have been difficult enough to sort through the minefield of emotions and come to any sensible conclusions. Now it was almost impossible.

The others watched anxiously, knowing this was a decision he had to make for himself. When Darien eventually raised his head to look directly at his Keeper they all unconsciously held their breath.

"No madness?" he asked finally.

"I promise Darien," Claire confirmed squeezing his hand.

"Then I guess we should go inside, 'cause I'm freezing my butt off here," he said shakily, with a weak smile. "Think I'm gonna need some help though," he continued as he struggled to rise.

"No problem buddy," Hobbes said, standing up and offering his hands. He hauled a groaning Darien to his feet and held his shivering body steady whilst Alex moved to the other side of him. They draped his arms over their shoulders and gripped him tightly as they prepared to make their way back downstairs.

By the time they reached the door Darien could barely lift his legs and they practically dragged him down to the elevator. All the adrenalin he'd had coursing through his system since noticing his tattoo seemed to have evaporated with the news that quicksilver madness wasn't going to blight his life again and he could hardly keep his eyes open. He briefly wondered why the gland hadn't been triggered by the excess adrenalin, but was too exhausted to care at the moment.

After what seemed like an age they eventually reached lab three and as they entered, Darien immediately sensed the presence of other people in the room. He managed to prise his eyes open wide enough to see the hazy forms of the Official and Eberts questioning an obviously distressed Lucy. Standing to the side watching the scene was a tall and ruggedly handsome man whose sandy coloured hair was shot through with grey. Struggling to focus, Darien let out a gasp of surprise as he finally recognised the figure.

"Dad…" he managed to whisper before passing out.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"So let me get this straight, there's a secret organisation of genetically enhanced humans who intend to take over the world and a renegade ex-member of theirs is out for revenge because my son screwed up his plans for a coup?" Mason Fawkes re-capped incredulously after being briefed on the situation by Eberts.

"Essentially, yes," the Official confirmed, nodding grimly.

"Yeah, an' he's the real deal - a certifiable, sneaky, underhand, grade A, evil son of a bitch!" Hobbes interjected passionately, adding his own colourful description of Stark's character. "Sorry Chief," he apologised hurriedly as he noticed Borden's disapproving glare at his outburst. Ducking his head, he took a sudden intense interest in a pair of scissors on the table beside him and hoped his interruption wouldn't have a bearing on the size of his paycheck that month.

"With all this talk of invisibility glands, mind control and nanobots I feel like I've slipped into the Twilight Zone," Mason admitted with a shake of his head. He'd been a highly efficient government assassin for over thirty years and had found himself involved in some seriously disturbing situations, but it was nothing to the terrifying world his son seemed to have stumbled into.

"Don't forget the mermaid," Hobbes piped up again, unable to stop himself. The Official looked fit to burst, but didn't say a word. Deciding a strategic withdrawal was in order Hobbes sidled out of his employer's line of sight and headed over to where the Keeper was tending to his unconscious partner.

"We have indeed investigated some rather unusual cases since your son joined the Invisible Man project and the Agency's remit often puts us in the front line of the fight against covert threats to our Country's security," Eberts said quickly, hoping to deflect the Official's attention from Hobbes; it wouldn't be right for him to lose his temper in front of a guest. "Unfortunately Agent Fawkes' successes against these threats have earned him some powerful and dangerous enemies, not least of whom is Mr Stark."

"If I might ask, what do you intend to do about this man?" Mason enquired in a deceptively calm voice.

"Oh, don't worry Mr Fawkes we've located Stark's base of operations and have him under discreet surveillance," the Official informed him confidently. "Preparations are being made as we speak to infiltrate his stronghold and take him into custody. We'll be ready to go by the time Darien's fit for duty, but in the meantime he's not going anywhere."

"Why not just storm the place and take him out now?"

"We'd prefer to take him alive," Borden explained. "Chrysalis may well be a covert organisation, but the threat it poses to the current World order shouldn't be underestimated. Any information Stark can provide would give us a significant advantage in countering its plans."

"Well, if you're sure you've got the situation under control…." Mason's voice trailed off as he glanced over to where Claire was busy giving Darien another shot of modified counteragent and watched as she expertly slipped the needle into his vein. A series of small tremors shook his body as the substance entered his bloodstream. "What the hell is that?" Mason asked with more than a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"This," Claire said holding up the empty syringe, "contained the drug that's going to flush the poison out of your son's system and may well save his life." Mason's accusatory tone felt like a slap in the face and after days of worry and very little sleep she was feeling very short-tempered. "I'm sorry," she apologised, immediately regretting her words. "I'm afraid the events of the last few days have frayed my nerves somewhat."

"No, I'm the one who should apologise, I guess I'm a little on edge myself," Mason replied hastily. "I arrived here fully expecting to have to try and make my peace with my dying son…."

"Yeah well I hope the whole death thing's not gonna happen," came a croaky voice from behind them.

"Darien! How are you feeling?" Claire asked, relief flooding through her at his return to consciousness.

"You don't wanna know," he answered with a weak smile. Looking past his Keeper he saw his father walking across the lab towards him. "Dad, I…" he began uncertainly.

"Hey there sleepyhead, it's about time you woke up. I know it was always hard to get you out of bed on a morning, but this is ridiculous," Mason said with an amused smile, taking his cue from Darien's attempts at humour. "Your boss tells me you've been messing with some crackpot's plans and seriously ticking him off. Seems to be a regular thing too from all accounts."

"What can you expect from a smartass punk?" Hobbes asked with a laugh as he joined them by the bed. "How ya doin' pal, you okay?"

"Yeah, more or less" Darien answered shakily. "How long was I out?"

"About an hour," Claire told him checking her watch. She lifted his right arm to inspect the tattoo and found it now only showed three red segments. "Three or four more shots and you should be back to normal," she announced with satisfaction, letting him see the snake.

"I never realised how much I liked green 'til I got this little guy," Darien said staring intently at the tattoo.

"Can you give us a minute?" Mason asked the others, his face becoming more serious. The Official nodded his assent and gestured for Claire, Bobby and Eberts to follow him to the far end of the room. Looking directly into his son's eyes he said, "I'm sorry but I can't stay any longer, it's not safe for any of us. I just needed to make sure you were going to be alright." He held up his hand to stop Darien from interrupting and continued, "There's a lot we need to talk about, I know that, but not right now. I'm working on a way to make it possible for me to keep in touch more often without causing any trouble, but for now I have to go."

"You just got here!" Darien whined unhappily.

"I arrived hours ago but your unscheduled expedition up to the roof messed up my timetable and I've stayed much longer than I should have done," he answered with a wry smile. "Promise me you won't try anything that stupid again, okay?"

A slow blush crept across Darien's face and he looked away. "Um, sure," he agreed in embarrassment. "It was a mistake."

"You bet it was - I mean it Darien, nothing's worth throwing your life away like that, are you listening?" When Darien nodded in agreement Mason squeezed his arm and continued, "Take care of yourself son and be assured, we'll be seeing each other again before you know it." As he turned to leave he paused and said, "I know I'm leaving you in safe hands, you've got some good friends watching your back."

"The best," Darien whispered, the tears welling up in his eyes threatening to fall as he watched his father stride swiftly out of the door.

Jared Stark sat in his oak panelled office listening attentively to a woman on the other end of the phone. "That's excellent news doctor," he informed her brightly once she'd finished speaking. "I'm sure a sizable bonus will find its way into your account very shortly." He replaced the handset on its cradle and stared up at his wife who was hovering expectantly by his side. A self-satisfied smile slowly spread across his face.

"Well, what did she say?" Eleanor asked eagerly. "I want details."

"It's confirmed!" he replied with a smile. "Everything has gone according to plan and neither Chrysalis, nor the Agency have any idea about this particular matter. Today's check-up showed our choice from the suitable candidates was perfect, she is in excellent health and there are no indications of any problems. In fact the good doctor assures me we should be introducing Brandon to his new baby sister within the week."

"Oh that's wonderful darling," Eleanor crowed. "Our little dynasty is developing nicely." Her tone became more wistful as she continued, "It's a pity we couldn't find a way to use the Monroe woman again, she really did prove to be the ideal incubator for Brandon."

"Yes, she was the perfect choice physically, it's just unfortunate she proved so tenacious, I really didn't factor that into the equation when making my decision. Depriving her of a second child would be the perfect punishment for her insolence, but expecting her to try the same method of conceiving after discovering details of our breeding programme is just wishful thinking. It could have been the icing on the cake, but I'm willing to be satisfied with the death of Darien Fawkes for now. There'll be plenty of time to teach Ms Monroe her lesson once we've re-established ourselves in the hierarchy."

"You're right of course, but you know me, I always crave the ideal in any situation," Eleanor pointed out.

"That's why I'm so fond of you my dear. We do make the perfect team don't we?" he replied taking her hand in his own.

Eleanor smiled. They had been chosen for each other when they were children due to the compatibility of their DNA, but they'd managed to develop a mutual affection that was rare amongst Chrysalis pairings. "I suppose we'd better enjoy the next few months with our new arrival because once your latest plan gets underway we'll have very little time for private matters."

"Yes," Stark agreed bitterly. "Yet another reason to rejoice at the death of Darien Fawkes. If he hadn't blown our last attempt to seize power we'd be able to concentrate on pushing our agenda forward rather than regrouping and having to waste time and resources on developing a new strategy to dispose of Sharon and her minions."

"Don't worry darling," Eleanor said soothingly, "I have no doubts we will succeed. Now let's leave Fawkes in the past where he belongs and look to the future. We really should check everything is prepared in the nursery don't you think?" She smiled up at her husband and led him out of the study.

"Welcome back," Darien said with relief, running his index finger over his right wrist where a totally green snake tattoo stared back at him. Claire had just administered what they hoped would be the last dose of modified counteragent and all of the toxin seemed to have been flushed from his system as the final red segment blinked back to green. "No more needles," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Now I never said _that_," Claire pointed out. "I still have a few more tests to run, so don't be getting too excited."

"Killjoy," Darien muttered rebelliously.

"I heard that!" Claire admonished, collecting an instrument tray as she returned to his side.

"Yeah, well you were supposed to," he grouched. It had been five long days since his father's unexpected visit and with returning health had come a growing restlessness at being confined in the lab. The prospect of more poking and prodding was the last thing he'd expected. "Come on Keep, how about we take a little time out to celebrate, huh?"

"Don't turn those eyes on me Darien," Claire warned, realising he was about to resort to the ultimate weapon in his arsenal. "Look, I'll make you a deal, you let me run some tests now and as soon as Bobby and Alex get back we'll stop and crack open a bottle of champagne, alright?"

"You mean if I'm in any fit state to do anything after you've finished with me!" he replied moodily. "Where've they gone anyway?"

"Alex has been monitoring the telephone calls coming in and out of Stark's home and she's traced some of them to a small and very exclusive fertility clinic in La Jolla. She's convinced Stark is up to his old tricks again and is determined not to let him get his hands on any more children. The Official's not convinced, but he agreed to let her go and investigate as long as Bobby went along too," Claire informed him with a smile. "Now enough of the delaying tactics or the deal's off. It's been well over a week since you went invisible, so I think we'll start there."

Darien gave a long-suffering sigh, laid back and closed his eyes. Taking slow deep breaths he concentrated on raising his heart rate and braced himself for the cold shiver the first hint of quicksilver caused.

"Come on Darien, the sooner we start, the sooner we'll be finished," prompted Claire as the seconds ticked by. He opened his eyes, a frown creasing his forehead.

"I…I'm trying, but nothing's happening." He looked genuinely perplexed and Claire knew immediately that he wasn't joking.

"Mmm, I was afraid something like this might happen," she admitted for the first time.

A strangled, "What?" was all Darien managed to say in reply.

"So, what are you telling me doctor, the project I've devoted my life to and spent seventeen million dollars making a reality has resulted in a useless blob of goo in one of my agent's brains?" the Official demanded, massaging his temples vigorously.

"No, that's not what I'm trying to say," Claire replied defensively. "From my tests I'm certain I've traced the problem to the connective tissue where the gland is grafted to Darien's cerebral cortex. There's no indication the gland's function is impaired, in fact the level of quicksilver in his blood is what I'd expect. However, Darien is unable to consciously go invisible and I'm sure the means of communication between his brain and the gland has been disrupted by the damage I've discovered."

"Is this temporary, or do I need to be lining up candidates to decide who becomes the new recipient of the gland?" Borden asked as though his question had no more serious consequences for Darien than a change in assignment.

Claire looked over to where her Kept was sleeping fitfully. He'd endured a frustrating and exhausting morning of tests and she knew she'd pushed him to his limit, but the Official's reaction to the news convinced her she'd done the right thing. She fervently hoped all the information she'd been able to gather would ensure Darien was spared from a premature harvesting party. Heading for the door of the Keep she gestured for the Official to follow her and once out in the corridor they were both silent until the door slid closed.

"Even if removing the gland were a possibility, I can't believe you would still consider effectively murdering Darien for another chance to further your career and enhance the reputation of your precious Agency," she declared angrily.

"It has never been a matter of personal aggrandisement doctor," the Fat Man stated coldly, "but it _is_ a matter of national security. You are ideally placed to appreciate what a difference the gland has made to our success in fighting any number of threats that have arisen in the last few years."

"What a difference the gland's made? The gland?" Claire replied heatedly. "I'll admit Darien wasn't exactly a willing participant when he joined this Agency, but that's changed and even if you can't admit it, he's the reason your precious success rate is so high. He's done everything you've asked of him and more, but you still treat him like an expendable piece of government property!"

"We can't be concerned with individuals in this line of work doctor - it's a luxury we simply cannot afford, especially in the current climate!" the Official barked back. "I'm not denying Fawkes' contribution to our success, but if he is unable to use the gland I must find someone who can."

"I'm afraid you won't be happy with my conclusions then," Claire informed him quietly, handing over the folder she was carrying. "This is all the data from my latest tests and as you will see it's the gland's connective tissue that's damaged, not Darien's brain…." She stopped abruptly as muffled noises could be heard inside the lab.

"CLAIRE!" came an urgent wail she knew only too well.

"Oh no! He must have overheard us," Claire murmured throwing a furious glare at her employer. Hurrying back into the lab she was greeted by a deathly pale and wild-eyed Darien struggling to throw off the bedclothes. "Easy Darien, you're safe here, I won't let anything happen to you…"

"No, no…not me…them…" he gabbled, still struggling to rise, "we gotta help 'em…NOW!"

"I don't understand, please Darien tell me what's wrong," Claire asked, trying not to be affected by his obvious agitation.

"The clinic, Stark's men are there, Bobby and Alex are in trouble," he managed to say more coherently. His eyes were unfocused as if he were looking into the far distance and he whispered, "Oh Claire, there's so much blood…."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"How much longer've we gotta sit here Monroe?" Hobbes asked impatiently, tapping out a staccato beat on Golda's steering wheel with his fingers. It had been a long, boring stakeout with nothing more interesting than the arrival of a couple of expectant Moms, the odd visitor bearing gifts and the comings and goings of a few staff members changing shifts. A slight smile curled his lips as the thought crossed his mind that there was probably more activity at the local morgue.

Alex caught the smile and immediately went on the defensive as she misinterpreted its meaning. "Look Hobbes, I know you probably think I'm this neurotic woman who'll race around chasing her tail like a demented dog every time there's anything the least bit suspicious about one of these places, but you're wrong. I know something's going on here, this set up has a stench so bad it makes your van's uniquely distinctive aroma seem almost fragrant!"

"Did I say I didn't believe you?" Hobbes replied petulantly, stung by the insult she'd thrown at his beloved van. "Oh I believe you alright, anything Stark's involved in is definitely hinky in Bobby Hobbes' opinion. I just wanna get back to check on Fawkes, if the Keep's right it should be his last shot today." He stared appraisingly at her and continued, "Not to mention the fact that if I don't get something to eat real soon I'm gonna be gnawing your leg off for a snack."

"Is it my imagination or do you get more like Darien every day?" Alex asked waspishly. "Phillips and Gertz should be here anytime now, then you can leave."

"What about you?" asked Hobbes, choosing to ignore her tone. Monroe had been distant and uncompromisingly focused all day, in a way that reminded him of her first few months with the Agency. "You need a break Alex."

"I'm staying," she stated in a voice that dared him to argue.

"Look, I promised Claire I'd get takeout before I call in to see Fawkes. Why don't you come back with me, help cheer the guy up? He's practically climbin' the walls in there and the Fat Man won't let him out of the Agency in case there's any unfriendlies lurking around. If Stark finds out he's still alive there's no telling what the psycho'll try next," Hobbes explained. "Anyway they probably won't even try anything until..."

"Hobbes, look!" Alex said urgently cutting off any further comment. "That guy in the black suit just heading up to the building, he was one of the goons who tried to grab Adam when we were taking him to that desert facility."

Bobby had to blink against the glare of the setting sun to see the tall, dark haired man Alex had spotted entering the clinic, but he recognised him straight away. "Yeah, he's one of Stark's most trusted heavies, tried to drown Fawkes once," he confirmed grimly. "It must be time for the pickup." Reaching for his cell phone he flipped it open to call for backup, but stopped abruptly when he felt a rush of air as the passenger door opened and Monroe exited the van.

"Hold up Monroe!" Hobbes called angrily before muttering, "Now who's getting more like Fawkes? I swear I'll haunt you for the rest of your days if you get me killed!" He threw the cell phone onto the seat next to him and slammed the door as he rushed to catch up. No matter how reckless she was acting, she needed someone to watch her back.

A little way up the street Monroe suddenly ducked down behind a parked car and as Hobbes caught up to her she gestured to the alley at the side of the clinic where a black sedan was parked by a small door. "Looks like they're planning on a swift exit, wouldn't you say? Wait here."

Before Hobbes could open his mouth to answer, Alex was squeezing behind the large dumpster at the entrance to the alley, a feat only someone of her slender frame could have accomplished, and she soon reappeared behind the sedan. Easing her way forward, she tapped lightly on the car window and as it slowly opened she pointed her gun straight into the face of the driver. There was nothing for him to do but surrender and within minutes she had him cuffed and secured in the back of Golda.

"Sweet move Monroe," Hobbes said appreciatively as she returned to the alley.

"Why thank you Mr Hobbes," Alex replied in a mock southern belle accent. "What now?"

"Now we wait and grab the bastards when they try to leave and make sure the little bambino is returned safely to his doting parents," Hobbes said confidently, but a loud burst of gunfire from inside the clinic suddenly signalled the need for a change of plan. Checking their weapons, they nodded to each other and cautiously entered the building.

"Darien? Can you hear me?"

"Huh?" Darien groaned in response to his Keeper's voice. He opened his eyes slowly and managed to squint up to see Claire's concerned face staring down at him. "What happened?"

"It's alright, you just fainted," Claire said trying to sound reassuring. "Here, take a drink of this,"

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's just water," she replied with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Not sure," mumbled Darien, accepting the glass gratefully. His hands were trembling and his teeth chattered against the rim as he took a small sip. "Oh crap!" he suddenly exclaimed, almost dropping the glass as he tried to rise. "Hobbes!"

"Easy, easy," Claire said soothingly trying to push Darien back onto the bed. He looked shaken and almost as pale as the white pillows propping him up. "The Official and Ebert are trying to contact him now."

"So there's no news?" he asked hesitantly, not really sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Not yet, but I'm sure they'll let us know as soon as they hear anything," Claire assured him, looking at her patient with concern. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"To me or in here?" he asked with a weak smile, tapping his head, "'cause I gotta tell you Keep this is seriously freaking me out."

"We'll concentrate on the whys and hows of all this later, "Claire replied, adopting a professional air. "Right now I need to know what you saw."

Darien stared into the swirling liquid in his glass and took a deep shuddering breath. "I think he's dead," he admitted slowly, looking up. When he saw the confusion in her eyes he continued, "Bobby, I think Bobby's dead. He...he was fighting with a guy and I'm sure he got shot...there was blood everywhere and he went down hard. He wasn't moving Claire!"

"Hey, let's not borrow trouble shall we? None of us know what's going on yet and I think we should wait to hear before we jump to any conclusions, okay?" Claire said grasping his hand tightly. "After all, you have seen glimpses of the future before in your dreams, so maybe we can stop whatever you saw from happening."

"I guess," Darien grudgingly agreed, more to placate her than to find any comfort in her words. Whatever Claire said, he just felt this was different. His prescient dreams were distressing and had a haunting quality to them that lingered, but they were vague hints of coming danger in comparison to the horrific reality of the 'vision' he'd experienced earlier.

At the sound of the door opening they both turned to see the Official and Eberts entering the room.

"Looks like you were right son," the Official conceded, giving Darien a penetrating stare. "All hell's broken loose down there."

"Agents Phillips and Gertz are at the scene now and they've found a man handcuffed in Robert's van," Eberts continued smoothly. "The local police are on their way and there have been reports of gunfire coming from inside the clinic. We've dispatched all our available agents to help, but unfortunately there's no sign of Robert or Miss Monroe."

"I've gotta get down there," Darien announced, swinging his legs off the bed.

"NO!" the Official commanded. "I don't want you leaving the Agency until we go after Stark, otherwise we'll lose the element of surprise."

"I don't give a damn about your surprise, I'm going and Stark can go to hell!" Darien replied angrily, walking unsteadily towards the closet in the corner. As he dressed he could hear angry mutterings coming from the other side of the room, but he wasn't interested in anything they had to say; he'd made up his mind and needed to be at the scene, whatever he was going to find there. Grabbing his jacket he began pulling it on as he headed for the door.

"Here, let me help you with that," Eberts offered helpfully, stepping forward. Darien's step faltered in surprise and he suddenly felt an all too familiar stinging sensation in his neck.

"You sneaky bastard..." he managed to utter before the sedative hit his system and he collapsed into the other man's arms.

As soon as they entered the clinic, Hobbes and Monroe scanned the surroundings for any signs of trouble. "This way," Alex said, hearing panicked voices and a woman's hysterical screams coming from somewhere off to the left.

They made their way carefully along the hallway and were just about to turn the corner at the far end when a loud voice shouted, "Back off and no-one else needs to die here today!"

Exchanging worried glances with Alex, Hobbes waved her back and peered round the corner. Stark's thug stood there with his back to them, accompanied by a burly orderly and a woman in a lab coat who was holding a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. He was pointing a large revolver at a couple of terrified nurses, a young woman dressed in a hospital gown and what looked like a security guard. Another nurse lay on the ground, blood pooling around her body.

"Please don't let them take my baby!" pleaded the young woman, leaning heavily against the wall. The security guard made to take a step towards them, but stopped when the orderly waved his own weapon threateningly at him. Without warning, the young woman lunged forward and rushed towards the one holding her child.

Hobbes reacted instantly and threw himself at the back of the man in the dark suit. A split second before he was able to tackle him to the ground the man managed to fire a shot and the young woman fell to the floor with an anguished cry. The two nurses dived for cover as more shots rang out and the security guard went down with a bullet in his leg.

Taking advantage of the commotion, the woman holding the baby tried to slip away only to be confronted by an icily cool Monroe.

"Going somewhere?" Alex asked sweetly. Changing to a much more menacing voice she passed over her handcuffs and said, "Give me the child and attach one end of these to your right wrist." Once the woman had complied with her instructions, Alex fastened the other end to a conveniently placed bracket on the wall.

Around the corner, Hobbes was busy wrestling on the ground with his adversary and, with a manoeuvre worthy of the best martial arts expert, he managed to flip the man and bring his gun down hard, knocking him out. He sighed with relief and was about to stand when the orderly grabbed for him and pulled him unceremoniously to his feet, just as the security guard managed to prop himself up and started shooting. Before he could react, one bullet grazed the side of Hobbes' head and he felt the orderly's body jerk with the impact of two more.

"I'm a federal agent..." he managed to shout before a fourth shot penetrated the other man's body and ripped into his own. They both went sprawling and Hobbes' head slammed hard against the wall as he fell.

"Oh my God," Alex breathed as she came into view of the carnage. Clutching the baby more tightly to her, she rushed over to where Hobbes was lying. He was covered in blood and wasn't moving. She quickly leaned over to take his pulse, but couldn't feel anything. In desperation, she repositioned her fingers slightly and gulped with relief as she felt a weak, yet reassuringly rhythmical pulse pushing against them.

He was alive - at least for now.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Jared, they've got our daughter!" Eleanor Stark practically shrieked in disbelief as they stood together watching the events at the clinic being played out on the television news. Alex Monroe had just been shown accompanying an injured Hobbes into one of the waiting ambulances, a baby held protectively in her arms.

"That damned Agency!" Stark raged. It was bad enough his newborn daughter had been snatched from within his grasp, not to mention seeing his most trusted follower being dragged away in handcuffs, but the most galling thing of all was knowing it had been accomplished by an organisation he thought he'd effectively neutralised. "It looks like Darien Fawkes won't be the only member of the Agency to suffer at my hands, because by the time I'm finished there won't be a single one of them left alive!" he vowed.

He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and forced himself to adopt the urbane façade he seemed to be able to don and discard at will. After pressing a button on the table next to him to summon one of his assistants, he squeezed his wife's hands, "Don't worry my dear, I plan to have our daughter returned to us within the week and I think I know just how to obtain the leverage we need."

As a young man appeared at the door, Stark turned and said, "I want everyone to convene for a briefing in one hour. Please ensure prompt attendance, we have plans to make." The messenger nodded respectfully and left.

"Do you think they know where we are?" Eleanor asked in obvious concern.

"No, my dear," Stark assured her. "It would take a genius to sift through the bogus corporations and convoluted data trails I put in place to cover our tracks. As for the Agency stumbling onto our involvement at the clinic, I think it was just extremely bad luck. My sources tell me Monroe has been periodically checking out facilities offering fertility treatments for some time, no doubt looking for suspicious activities that could lead her to us."

Stark paused for a moment and frowned deeply, "I'd like to know how they found out about the clinic we used though, because I honestly thought it was so small and exclusive it would slip under their radar."

"All that pacing isn't going to make him arrive any faster you know and it's just going to wear you out," Claire told her Kept reasonably as he strode across the lab for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day.

"He should be here by now, they said three o'clock, right?" Darien replied with a worried expression on his face. "You don't think they got it wrong do you and his injuries were worse than they thought?"

"No Darien, I spoke personally to the surgeon. The bullet he removed wasn't too deep and he was able to easily repair the damage. Luckily the orderly's body bore the brunt of its force and by the time the bullet hit Bobby it was almost spent," she explained. "They only wanted to keep him at the hospital overnight for observation because of his concussion, but that's only minor. We're more than capable of looking after him here now."

"But there was so much blood, I don't see how he got away so lightly," Darien persisted.

"A lot of the blood came from the orderly, some from the wound in Bobby's side, but one of the bullets also nicked the bottom of his ear and it's amazing how profusely a person can bleed from a small wound there. Honestly, he'll be fine in a couple of weeks," she concluded with a reassuring smile. "Now, can you find something to keep yourself occupied while I review this morning's test results?" As an afterthought she added, "Oh and Darien, please don't touch any of my experiments."

He rolled his eyes dramatically and Claire laughed as she turned back to continue with her work.

As soon as Darien was sure she was no longer watching him, he began pacing again, trying to work out what was bugging him. His Keeper's assurances were all well and good but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The sense of dread was beginning to make his head pound again and when the Keep door swooshed open a little while later he was so lost in thought he jumped in surprise.

"Hey, how's the little guy doing?" he asked quickly as Alex walked in still holding the baby. Frankly he was thankful for the distraction.

"The little _guy_ is a girl," Alex pointed out, "and she's fine thank you. However, after we got her checked out at the hospital the Official decided she'd be safer here - considering who we're dealing with. I volunteered to take care of her."

"Is that wise Alex?" Claire asked with concern.

"Don't worry Claire, I know she's not mine," Alex readily admitted. "It's just nice to care for a child and do some of the things I was denied experiencing with James."

"I don't want you to get hurt, that's all."

I know and I appreciate it, but you of all people should know I wouldn't deny motherhood to the woman who carried and gave birth to her," Alex pointed out defensively.

"Cute little thing ain't she?" Darien asked, hoping to head off any developing conflict. "How is her Mom by the way?"

"Still on the critical list, but the doctors are more optimistic about her condition today. Unfortunately the nurse who raised the alarm wasn't that lucky. She was killed instantly," Alex informed them with regret.

"Well I think we ought to decide on something else to call the baby, because saying 'her' and 'she' all the time can get very confusing, don't you agree?" Claire suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "Her Mum can always change it once she's feeling well enough."

"What do you think about 'Melissa'? Alex suggested. "It's the name of the nurse who saved her from Stark."

"I like it," Darien agreed. "What about you Keep?"

"Yes, I like it too, it seems appropriate somehow. What about the would be kidnappers, have you managed to get anything out of them?" Claire asked.

"Stark's guy is a real tough cookie, he won't even give us his name and I don't think he'll crack under interrogation. The orderly died at the scene and it seems he was just hired muscle. As for the woman, she's a doctor at the clinic," Alex told them with disgust. "She spilled the story of her involvement as soon as we got her back here. Seems Stark was offering an obscene amount of money for her cooperation." Her voice took on a menacing tone as she added, "Do you think the Official would give me the chance to have a one to one with the delightful doctor and convince her that selling babies is not a wise career choice?"

Darien and Claire exchanged nervous glances but before they had a chance to reply, the Official's voice came over the intercom, "Dr Keeply could you please come to my office immediately and bring Darien with you, I have some news."

"So what's up 'Fish?" Darien enquired casually as he and Claire entered Borden's office five minutes later.

"Sit," the Official ordered abruptly. As they complied, he shuffled some papers on his desk and looked at them with an extremely grave expression. "Hobbes has disappeared from the hospital," he announced without preamble.

"WHAT?" Darien shouted jumping to his feet.

"Sit down!" barked the Official. "This is no time to be overly emotional. Eberts is at the hospital now and it would appear a private ambulance turned up over an hour before he did with papers authorising Bobby's transfer. In light of recent events I think it's safe to assume Jared Stark had something to do with this," he concluded with obvious displeasure.

"Hobbes wouldn't just go along with anyone," Darien asserted confidently. "He'd sense something was wrong, you know what his instincts are like."

"Not if he were unconscious," the Official informed him unhappily. "The security video shows he was out like a light and they found a discarded syringe in his room containing traces of a strong sedative. The footage also picked up the two men who took him and we're having prints made, but I doubt they'll have criminal records. Stark's men seem to keep a very low profile."

"What are we waiting for then? We know where Stark's holed up, why don't we go over there and storm the place?" Darien demanded angrily.

"Because I'm not stupid enough to let my emotions rule my head!" the Official growled back. "Stark obviously took Hobbes for a reason and I'm sure he's hoping to make a trade for his daughter. As long as we have her, Hobbes will be safe."

"Bobby would never agree to giving up the little girl to ensure his own safety and he wouldn't want us to either," Claire said emphatically.

"We know that, but obviously Stark doesn't," the Official agreed. "However, if he wants to bargain, it will buy us some time to come up with a plan of our own and there's no reason why we can't take Stark down in the process. What's the status of the gland?"

"I was reviewing today's test results when you called us up here, but from what I've seen so far there's no discernable change," she informed him. "If there's going to be any improvement I'd expect to see signs within the next few days."

"I just hope Hobbes' life doesn't depend on it," Darien commented bleakly.

"What the hell do you want with me Stark? 'Cause I gotta tell ya it'll be a cold day in hell before I help you!" Hobbes snarled at his kidnapper as he pulled against the restraints fastening him to a bed in a sparsely furnished room. As soon as he'd woken up from the sedative he'd assessed his position and noted the bars on the windows and the sophisticated security lock on the door. Escape wasn't going to be easy.

"Calm yourself Agent Hobbes, we don't want you to burst your stitches now do we?" Stark asked in mock concern. "I simply invited you to stay until arrangements can be made for my daughter's safe return, that's all. Now rest yourself and I'll come by to see you later." He turned to leave, but stopped abruptly and asked the question that had been preying on his mind, "Oh, there _is_ one thing I'm curious about – how did you find out about the clinic?"

Hobbes stared up at Stark impassively and said, "Well I could tell ya, but then I'd have to kill you wouldn't I?" He saw the flicker of annoyance in his captor's eyes and smiled. "C'mon, you really expect me to tell you classified information? You must think I'm stupid and Bobby Hobbes is anything but that." He locked gazes with Stark and said in a more chilling tone, "I wasn't kidding about the killing part though, 'cause I'm gonna make sure you pay for what you did to Fawkes."

"Oh I seriously doubt that Mr Hobbes. You're in no position to be making threats and the only regret I have about the death of your friend is that I wasn't there to see him suffer," Stark smirked. "Oh but of course I forgot, you're mentally unstable aren't you? No wonder you've deluded yourself into thinking you can hurt me. I suppose we'd better provide you with your medication before your behaviour becomes even more erratic."

"You're talking to _me_ about having mental health issues?" Hobbes asked incredulously. "I suggest you look in a mirror pal, 'cause right now I'm staring at the biggest whacked-out sicko I ever met."

"I think we're done here," Stark announced as his anger threatened to show itself. Before he left the room he remarked. "Once I get my daughter back I will take great pleasure in killing you personally."

"Darien I won't tell you again, those are expensive pieces of equipment so leave them alone!" Claire snapped irritably. It had been two long days since Hobbes' kidnapping and whilst the Official was successfully stalling Stark over arrangements to make a swap, there had been no progress in devising a viable rescue plan and time was running out. Everyone was on edge, but Darien was becoming insufferable as his mood unpredictably alternating between morose contemplation and hyperactive energy.

Darien backed away from the equipment he'd been tinkering with and threw himself carelessly onto the demented dentist's chair with a deep sigh. His imagination was working overtime playing out ever more horrific scenarios of what Stark might be doing to Hobbes and as another disturbing image popped into his aching head he jumped up, eager to be on the move again. Walking across the Keep he stared over Claire's shoulder to look at what she was writing. All he saw was an incomprehensible jumble of words and numbers on her computer screen.

"Darien, I'm trying to work!" Claire sighed wearily. "Why don't you go for a walk?"

"Hey, what a good idea, I could check out the peeling paint in the hallway, or how about the cracked window in the men's bathroom on the third floor? Oh, but no I can't do that can I, because a passing pigeon on Stark's payroll might see me and report back to him!" Darien answered in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Mmm, perhaps not the best suggestion I've ever made," she admitted as the Keep door opened and Eberts walked in carrying an armful of papers. He looked decidedly uncomfortable to be there and had avoided coming down to the lab ever since he'd sedated Fawkes.

"Hey Ebes, come to stick some more needles in me?" Darien called sourly.

"Oh stop that Darien, it wasn't Albert's fault, he was just following orders," Claire stated firmly. "You were in no fit state to be rushing around trying to save the day and you know it. I might not agree with the Official's method of stopping you, but I certainly agree with his reasoning." Her Kept continued to scowl sulkily at their visitor, but made no further comment. "Oh come on you two, it's time to kiss and make up. What is it you Americans say, 'no harm, no foul'?"

"No harm…?" Darien began angrily, but clamped his mouth shut abruptly as Claire's face took on an expression that threatened dire consequences if he continued.

"I really am sorry Darien," Eberts apologised earnestly. "I hope you can forgive me."

"Yeah, well, I guess," Darien muttered with bad grace.

"What brings you down here Albert?" Claire asked kindly.

"Well, I've been doing research on the estate where Jared Stark is currently residing and I think I may have found a way to penetrate the perimeter without the need for Darien to go invisible."

"Really?" Darien asked, his sullen mood disappearing with his heightened interest.

"Yes," Eberts confirmed. He walked over to an empty bench and started spreading out his papers. "I became intrigued when I discovered a slight inconsistency in the dimensions of the basement on the blueprints I obtained."

"What've some badly drawn up plans got to do with rescuing Hobbes?" Darien asked in confusion.

"But I don't think they _were_ badly drawn up," Eberts explained with a smile. "I'm not really sure why it caught my attention at first, but I couldn't shake the feeling I was missing something important. As I started researching the matter I became more and more convinced there was something significant about the anomaly. I uncovered irregularities in the planning applications and schematics that should have been a matter of public record were missing. In fact everything surrounding the construction of this house is strange…."

Eberts broke off as he watched the colour drain from Darien's face and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Arghhhhh!" Darien suddenly screamed as his features contorted with pain and he staggered back from the bench. Golden light exploded in front of his eyes and the dull pounding of the persistent headache he'd endured for days suddenly became a hot piercing fire in his brain. He fell to his knees, clawing at the back of his head in a desperate attempt to stop the torment.

Claire rushed over to him and quickly bent down, placing her hand on his back. "What's wrong Darien?" she asked desperately. "Please, tell me what's wrong!"

Darien managed to look up at her with terrified eyes and tried to speak, but another shooting pain of blazing heat suddenly ripped into his head. He writhed around on the floor in pure agony and Claire and Eberts could only look on in shocked disbelief as he disappeared from sight.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"What the hell is going on here?" came the Official's gruff voice as he entered the Keep a few moments later to see Eberts and Claire crouching over the same empty space on the floor. They seemed totally preoccupied, so when no answer to his question was forthcoming, he barked, "People, I want an explanation!"

Claire threw an exasperated glance over her shoulder, before disembodied whimpers distracted her attention again. "Darien, I can't help you while you're still invisible. You're going to have to stop the flow of quicksilver for me." She paused to listen and could hear her Kept struggling to control his raggedly erratic breathing. As the seconds ticked by she silently willed him to reappear and without conscious thought, began rubbing his back comfortingly. "Come on sweetheart, concentrate."

"No…can't," Darien eventually managed to groan before a desperately screamed, "_Please…_!" burst from his lips when the fire consuming his brain flared once again.

Claire felt his body bucking under her hand and struggled to sound calm and reassuring as she urged, "I know you can do this, please try." He didn't respond and in her growing desperation she did the only thing she could think of and adopted a haughty, commanding tone to say, "Darien Fawkes, stop wasting my time and listen to me. You stop the flow of quicksilver right now or I'll have you thrown in the padded room and you can go through this alone!"

Whether her words had somehow shocked him into complying, or he'd simply managed to regain control of the gland, she didn't know, but a tremendous wave of relief flowed through her when a spectacular shower of quicksilver flakes suddenly flew all around them and a dazed Darien dramatically reappeared. He sighed heavily and slumped over into his Keeper's waiting arms as the pain quickly subsided back to a dull ache.

Claire moved around so that Darien's head was resting in her lap and pushed his sweat-drenched hair back off his forehead. "Better?" she asked, her voice returning to one of tender concern.

"Mmm…thanks," he murmured, feeling his eyelids beginning to close. He was absolutely drained and wanted nothing more than to lose himself in a dreamless sleep.

"Darien, stay awake," Claire urged. "I need to know what happened!"

"Burning…." he muttered as he lost the struggle to do as she asked and allowed the darkness to take him.

Looking over to where Eberts was busy explaining what he understood of the situation to the Official, Claire shook her head in disgust and enquired in a stony voice, "Would it be too much to ask for you to postpone your little discussion until later and give me a little help over here?"

"He's still stalling!" Jared Stark informed his wife angrily, slamming the handset down after yet another fruitless phone call to the Official. "He's found fault with every single detail of the handover so far, from the location of a suitable rendezvous, right down to the type of vehicle we're allowed to use. The problem is, even though I know he's using delaying tactics, I can't see what advantage he expects to gain."

"I don't mean to question your plan darling, but an employee is far more expendable than our child," Eleanor pointed out reasonably, careful not to provoke her husband further. "From what I remember of _the Official_, he's a frustrated, arrogant little man, with a very high opinion of himself. Allowing his agent to languish here is a small price to pay if it allows him to enjoy having a sense of power over us and he probably wants it to last as long as possible."

"Well in that case I think it's about time we raised the stakes don't you?" Stark asked rhetorically. He punched the button on his intercom. "Please ask Mr Hobbes to join me in my office immediately," he requested before cancelling the call. A sneer twisted his lips as he looked over to his wife, "I do hope he's fully recovered from his recent blood loss my dear, because he may well need every drop he has left."

"How's your head?" Claire asked Darien gently the next morning as he slowly woke from a deep sleep.

He took a little while to answer, taking in his surroundings and experimentally flexing his neck. "Feels like a pumpkin someone's smashed up against a wall," he replied groggily. He blinked his eyes and massaged them with his hands. "What've you done to the lights?"

"The lights? Nothing, why?" Claire enquired, handing him a couple of small white tablets and a glass of water.

Darien took the proffered items and stared down at them in disbelief. "Aspirin? Can't you give me something stronger, 'cause these are like sticking a Band-aid on a bloody stump." he moaned unhappily.

Claire gave him a sympathetic smile. "As soon as I receive the final test results and check things out I'll be in a better position to know what to give you, but in the meantime you'll have to be satisfied with those. Now what did you mean about the lights?"

"Um, ah, nothing really," Darien lied unconvincingly. He suddenly realised he may well have let himself in for a whole new session of being poked and prodded. When Claire gave him her patented 'I wasn't born yesterday Darien Fawkes' look he knew he was in trouble. "Well, um, everything's kinda got a glowy look about it," he admitted reluctantly.

"A 'glowy' look?"

"Yeah, you know, kinda golden and hazy round the edges," he tried to explain.

Claire frowned, and after a few moments consideration said, "Well, that may be a residual effect from the bright flash you experienced before you collapsed yesterday, but I'll have to schedule a few more tests…"

She was interrupted when a quiet voice behind her announced, "The final results are here Dr Keeply. They came through a couple of minutes ago and I thought you'd want to see them right away." Lucy walked forward and handed a bulging folder to the doctor and smiled shyly at Darien. He grinned back, thankful for the interruption.

"Oh that's wonderful Lucy. Can you let the Official know?" Claire replied distractedly and started anxiously flicking through the pile of data. "Mmm," she murmured to herself.

"What?" Darien asked nervously. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or do I have to wait to find out my fate?"

A smile spread across Claire's face as she met his anxious gaze. "Don't worry, it's good news. It looks like the pain you experienced yesterday was the gland letting us know the damaged areas are regenerating."

"Oh goody," Darien grouched. "Do you think you could tell it I'd prefer a telegram next time?"

"It's a pity your mood hasn't improved," she observed wryly in response. "Don't you see what this means? We have a much better chance of getting Bobby away from Stark without anyone getting killed if you can turn invisible."

"Oh yeah," Darien mumbled in embarrassment. He'd been so wrapped up in his own personal pain-filled hell, he'd almost forgotten his partner's plight. "Did you ever find out what Eberts was rambling on about yesterday?"

"I've been a little too pre-occupied with you to worry about that, but I expect we'll find out this afternoon, if you're feeling up to a briefing with the Official."

"Count me in," Darien replied decisively.

"C'mon, c'mon," Hobbes muttered to himself as he manoeuvred the pen he'd stolen from one of the guards under the strap holding his left wrist. Fawkes had taught him the trick months ago after they'd been discussing his escape from the complex where his brother had been murdered. "Yes!" he hissed in triumph when the buckle suddenly loosened and his wrist came free; it was a new record. He quickly released his other limbs and was stretching his stiff and aching muscles when a voice drifted in from outside the room.

"I have to escort the Fed to see Mr Stark," a young man announced importantly.

The sound of numbers being punched into a keypad alerted Hobbes to the fact they were about to enter and he swiftly moved behind the door, bracing himself for a fight. As two men entered, he roughly grabbed the first and propelled him hard against the wall. A loud crack let him know the man was out for the count and he focused all his attention on the second individual, who seemed momentarily stunned by the turn of events. Hobbes took full advantage, sweeping his right leg out and taking the man to the floor. A couple of well aimed punches later and he joined his colleague in unconsciousness.

Hobbes eyed the men appraisingly; they were too big to provide him with any suitable clothes, so he decided there was no option but to remain in the pyjamas he was wearing. He hurriedly ripped sheets to bind and gag the men, retrieved the rifle and handgun they were carrying and carefully closed the door behind him. Using the butt of the rifle, he smashed the keypad and then paused as he heard footsteps approaching fast from the left. Silently making his way down the hallway, he dodged around the corner and headed in the opposite direction.

"I ordered Brad to bring the prisoner to my office ten minutes ago and I'm in no mood to be kept waiting," came Stark's irritated voice as he reached the room Hobbes had been imprisoned in. "What the…?" he exclaimed noticing the damaged keypad. He didn't need to look in the room to know Hobbes had escaped and his face turned to a livid shade of red as he barked, "Get the men together and search every inch of this place until you find him!" He paused for a moment then added, "Oh, and I don't care what condition he's in when I get him back, just make sure he's still breathing!"

"So effectively what you're saying is that Stark's property has a secret passage leading from the house deep into the grounds?" the Official asked, looking for confirmation.

"Yes Sir," Ebert replied confidently. "After all the inconsistencies I found surrounding the construction of the house I tried locating the architect who designed it, but unfortunately he died of a heart attack six years ago. However, I did manage to track down the foreman who was in charge of the site. He was initially reluctant to cooperate, but once I informed him of the situation, he was more than willing to confirm my suspicions and was even able to provide me with a set of accurate blueprints. They clearly show the entrance is located in the basement and it has a sliding panel to conceal it from plain sight."

"Who on earth would want a secret passage leading from their house?" Claire asked sceptically as Eberts spread the plans out on the table in front of them.

"One Carl Estevez," Eberts informed her promptly, placing a picture of the man in question in front of them. "He was a very ambitious East Coast lawyer who made a name for himself in the 1970s defending some decidedly shady characters, but as his influence and prosperity grew, so did the number of enemies he collected. He decided to move west and build himself a veritable fortress with a convenient escape route in case of trouble. Unfortunately for Mr Estevez he disappeared before his dream home was completed and there are rumours his body now resides in an overpass in downtown Los Angeles," Eberts concluded with obvious distaste.

"Colourful tale, but how does this help us?" the Official demanded. "Surely Stark knows about the tunnel."

"Actually it's highly unlikely he knows anything about it. The whole construction crew was made up of ex-clients Estevez helped escape lengthy prison sentences and apparently he had a dossier on each one implicating them in further crimes, ensuring their continuing silence," Eberts explained. "In addition, a long, protracted legal battle over the will between his five ex-wives meant the house lay empty for almost fifteen years. I think it's therefore safe to assume even those who knew of the project would have forgotten all about it in the intervening years."

"Yes, quite possibly," the Official agreed. "However, I'm not comfortable sending my men in without some form of confirmation."

"Well Sir, Darien could use his unique talents to slip into the grounds, check out the passageway and report back. If it is indeed unguarded we could breach the fence here," he said pointing to a section of the map on the display board behind him, "and be inside the house before Stark's men know what's happening."

"How viable is that Doctor?" the Official asked, turning his attention to Claire. It hadn't escaped his notice that Darien had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meeting and barely looked able to sit up straight, never mind infiltrate the residence of a known sociopath.

"Obviously Darien shouldn't be on active duty for quite some time…."

Hey, I'm fine and ready to go when you are," interrupted Darien, afraid they were going to veto Eberts' plan. He straightened up and put on an unconvincing show of being alert and poised for action.

"Let me finish," Claire admonished him gently. "In an ideal world I'd be against Darien's involvement, but circumstances being as they are, I don't see that we have any choice if we want Bobby back alive. After the test results came in this morning, Darien successfully used the gland to turn invisible a number of times and, though his control isn't one hundred percent yet, I think he would be able to carry out the initial reconnaissance.

The assembled group all turned eager eyes towards the Official and after a few moments deliberation he said, "Alright, you have a go."

"How's it looking?" Alex's voice asked in Darien's earpiece as he surveyed the entrance to the tunnel they were hoping would lead him to Stark's house. He'd earlier successfully negotiated the perimeter fence and safely made his way to an area dense with trees without being detected. With all the scratches and scrapes he'd acquired to get there he was convinced no one could have stumbled on the entrance by accident.

"It's all rusted to hell!" Darien grunted as he battled with the lock on what looked like a blast-proof storm cellar. "Just give me a minute." With a satisfying series of clicks the lock eventually sprang open and he pulled at the door. "Yuk!" he exclaimed in disgust. "Smells like something died in here."

"Does the way look clear?" came Alex's voice again. Darien was wearing the woolly turtle hat, complete with camera, but it didn't have night vision capabilities and the area was too dark to make out anything more than blurry shades of grey.

"Seems to be," Darien replied, turning on the large flashlight he'd brought with him to survey the dank and shadowy passageway. "I'm going in."

"Be careful Darien," Claire urged.

He smiled and made his way down the stairs in front of him. The only sounds to be heard were his own footsteps and the occasional drip of water from damp walls. Without any discernable landmarks, time and distance seemed to lose all meaning and he cautiously made his way further into the tunnel. After some time the passage began curving to the right and he felt the welcoming hint of a breeze. He hastened his step and around the next bend, found himself facing another door. He'd made it!

However, any feelings of relief were soon replaced by fear as he moved the flashlight to the left and caught sight of something moving towards him. "Oh crap!" he cried out in sudden panic.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Darien!" Alex and Claire exclaimed together after his startled cry erupted through the speakers and broke the anxious silence within the van. The murky image on the monitor in front of them dramatically shifted to a bright monochrome as quicksilver coated the lens of the camera on Darien's hat, but the image offered them no clues as to what was happening. Listening intently, all they could hear were the sounds of rapid, shallow breathing and faltering footsteps as he unsteadily backed away from the source of his fear.

They exchanged worried glances and both women had to fight the urge to rush to his rescue. However leaving the van really wasn't an option in broad daylight and even under cover of darkness they couldn't hope to reach the relative safety of the tunnel without being detected by Stark's security. All they could do was wait and hope, but as the atmosphere became more oppressive by the second Claire spoke up.

"Darien please, I need you to answer me. Tell me what's wrong, what do you see?" she asked desperately. She could hear his attempts to control his breathing and literally waited on the edge of her seat for him to answer.

After what seemed like an eternity Darien managed to stutter his reply, "Oh G-God Claire there's s-s-spiders…hundreds of them…all over the c-control panel…I can't…oh, just look!" He shakily positioned the flashlight's beam to reveal the shifting mass of glowing, silvery eight-legged creatures he could see crawling all over the release mechanism.

"Darien, what are you talking about? I don't see anything," came Alex's confused reply as she squinted at the clear section of wall he was illuminating.

"They're there, right there! Are you blind?" he replied frantically.

"Oh bloody hell," Claire murmured. Realisation finally dawned and she deactivated the microphone before turning to her friend to explain.

"What?" Alex asked urgently, seeing Claire's fear reflected in her eyes. There was no discernable threat on the screen, yet her friend seemed truly terrified.

"I think he's hallucinating," Claire admitted, and although Alex gave her a quizzical look she ignored it in favour of addressing Darien. "Sweetheart, I know you're scared, but can you tell me how you're feeling physically? Does your head hurt?"

"A bit," Darien admitted reluctantly after a momentary pause. "Everything's kinda glowy again too, but it's not that bad."

"Oh no, this _is_ bad, this is _really_ bad," Claire murmured switching off the microphone again. "Why did I ever agree to this? I should have known the gland would throw up more complications after such a traumatic episode. Why didn't I think this through?"

"Claire this isn't your fault. We're talking about Fawkes here, he would have found a way to do this regardless of your opinion, you know that," Alex pointed out reasonably. "Anyway, even if he is seeing insects, what's the problem? We tell him he's hallucinating and then all he has to do is open the door, check there's no one around and he can be back here within a few minutes."

"Don't you think Darien's freaked enough without telling him he's seeing things that aren't there?" Claire snapped. "In any case he's seeing arachnids not insects. You've read Darien's personnel file, surely you remember that Kevin used his brother's fear response to spiders to initially activate the gland. Even if I was willing to allow it, I don't think he'd be able to go any further."

"You're kidding!" Alex said incredulously. "I've seen Fawkes risk death from bombs and bullet too often to believe he couldn't face down a few phantom creepy crawlies to rescue his partner!"

Claire simply shook her head. Alex's reaction was typical of people who didn't fully appreciate the hold a true phobia could exert over an affected person and unfortunately now wasn't the time to try and explain. "Just trust me on this," she urged, "it's not a rational thing and with the gland acting so unpredictably, not to mention everything Darien's been through recently, I don't think we can ask him to deal with any more. Do you?"

The struggle to grasp and accept the situation was clearly evident on Alex's face. How many more frustrating near misses was she supposed to have to bear before she could finally hold her son in her arms again? Reluctantly she bowed her head in resignation. "So are we abandoning the mission?"

"I don't see any other alternative," Claire admitted unhappily, fully appreciating what this latest setback was doing to her friend. She turned back to the console and reactivated the microphone. "Darien, come back sweetheart you don't have to go any further, we'll think of something else once you get back to the van, alright?"

"Really?" Darien's relief was almost palpable and he practically bolted back the way he'd come. Suddenly the pressure was off and he could get the hell out of there. The pain in his head was easing and the strange bright glow in his vision was dissipating as his panicked mind began to calm. The trouble was his thoughts were now racing with the fear that they were losing their best chance of getting his partner out alive. Stark was too twisted to simply hold Hobbes until he could make the exchange and any delay could have lethal consequences. He couldn't screw this up.

Darien began slowing down and eventually came to a stop. This was it. He had to make a decision and he had to make it right then and there. "No!" he declared in a loud voice that echoed through the passageway. "I can do this, I can. I just need to open the door, have a quick look and then we can call in the cavalry, right? It could all be over in a couple of hours." His words were as much to reassure himself as anyone else and he nervously paced up and down to steel himself against the dread creeping back into his mind. Nevertheless, his efforts to regain some measure of control and slow down his runaway heartbeat were finally rewarded and quicksilver flaked from his body.

"I've done it before I can do it again," he kept repeating under his breath as his mind replayed the last time he'd been forced to confront his arachnophobia head on. He visualised himself reaching into the tank of spiders in Mexico to retrieve the note that had ultimately saved Casey from Arnaud. "Just shoot my hand out, flick the switch and pull back… only a couple of seconds…no problem," he muttered unconvincingly.

Returning to the tunnel's exit he took a deep breath and once again played the beam of his flashlight to illuminate the control panel. "Oh, they…they've all gone," he announced in obvious surprise. "Must've scared them off with the light I guess." He let out a nervous laugh and added, "Who'd have thought it'd be that easy?"

Not wanting to push his luck, Darien quickly activated the release mechanism and waited for the door to trundle open. Cautiously peering into the gloom beyond he quicksilvered his eyes to get a better look. "Seems to be a wine cellar," he informed Alex and Claire as he watched a rack filled with bottles directly in front of the door swing forward to allow him access to the room. "I think Ebes was right, there's no sign Stark knows anything about the tunnel. I'm just gonna have a quick look around." He swung the rack back into position and headed off to his left.

"Darien I want you to come back right now." Claire demanded. He might not be hallucinating any more, but there was no guarantee the situation wouldn't reoccur and she wouldn't be happy until they were safely back at the Keep. "You've accomplished what you set out to do, now leave it to the others. There's a team on standby who can be here within the hour."

"I'm so close Claire, I might be able to grab Hobbes and James before Stark suspects anything."

"Fawkes, the Keeper's right. You've done enough and it's time to get your butt back here so the retrieval team can do its job," Alex pointed out gruffly, mindful of Claire's concerns.

"Look I'm already in the basement - and where do bad guys always stash their prisoners? You got it - in the basement! Hobbes might be in the next…." Darien stopped abruptly before hissing urgently, "I think someone's coming."

"Oh that's where you're wrong pal, because someone's already here," a quiet yet menacing voice behind him announced. "Now turn around slowly and don't try anything."

Darien did as he was told and saw one of Stark's security men pointing a gun directly at his chest.

"Oh hey there," he replied affably. "I seem to have gotten a little lost. You couldn't point me to the good chardonnay could you?"

"Keep your mouth shut and get moving!" the young man barked, gesturing with his gun for Darien to make his way to the exit. As they walked the man reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a radio. "Kurten, it's Griffiths," he said speaking into the device. "I've found an unfriendly down on the basement level and I think it's someone Mr Stark will be eager to get reacquainted with."

"Man I shoulda listened to Claire," Darien groaned unhappily as he led the way out of the cellar.

"Of all the stupid, half-cocked ideas you've ever had this has to take the cake!" the Official roared, making the glass in his office door rattle dramatically in its frame. He glared at Eberts and said accusingly, "You were way off in your assessment of the situation weren't you?

"On the contrary Sir, there's still no indication anyone is aware of the passageway and the door was concealed behind a wine rack, which Darien thankfully replaced after going through," Eberts informed him calmly, seemingly unaffected by his employer's anger. "Apparently Darien believed he could bring about a swift conclusion to the mission by locating Agent Hobbes and the child by himself and, although the Keeper and Agent Monroe voiced their objections, they were unable to convince him to return to the surveillance van. The security guard who captured him was simply carrying out a routine sweep."

"Where are Alex and the Keeper now?" Borden asked more civilly as he began processing the facts.

"They're holding position until they receive further instructions Sir."

"Well at least some people in this agency still appreciate the chain of command," he grouched. Vigorously massaging his temples with his index fingers he collected his thoughts and demanded, "So where do we stand, what are our options?"

"Obviously Darien's capture has unnecessarily complicated matters, but I don't think the situation is unsalvageable," Eberts assured the Official. "We now have confirmation the passageway has remained undiscovered and I think it is safe to assume Darien would rather die than cooperate with Jared Stark. As a result I believe we still have the option of going ahead with the original plan." He frowned as he thought of the possible consequences of such action, including the greater risk of injury and loss of life now that their target knew his whereabouts had been discovered. "However I would recommend a wait and see policy at the moment."

"What?" the Official growled as his anger reignited. "We have two agents and 17 million dollars of government money on the line here and the best plan you can come up with is to sit back and wait for whatever move Stark decides to make next?" At an almost imperceptible nod from his second in command the Official looked up at ceiling and raised his hands in supplication and whispered, "Lord, give me strength!"

"Crap, crap and triple crap," Darien muttered under his breath as he made his way out of the basement with his captor following closely behind. "C'mon Fawkes, think of something, what would Hobbes do?" He conjured up an image of his partner and could almost hear him saying 'Stay alert, try to distract the guy, wait for an opportunity and go for it.' He was definitely alert now and distracting the bozo wasn't going to be a problem - he'd just piss him off. Gotta play to your strengths right?

"Hey, are you one of the luxury versions or just an economy model?" he asked casually.

"Let's just say my specs outstrip yours and leave it at that shall we?" the young man replied disdainfully, pressing the barrel of his gun into Darien's back and shoving hard. Darien stumbled forward awkwardly and landed on his knees, his arms flying out to catch himself. As he moved to regain his feet a shadow fell across his path and he looked up to see Jared Stark staring down with a wide smirk on his face.

"Well, well Darien, imagine my surprise when I was informed of your unscheduled visit to my humble abode," he said conversationally. "You know, it really is the height of bad manners to turn up without giving your host a chance to prepare for your arrival."

"Yeah well you know me, I didn't want to spoil the surprise. After all it's not often you get the chance to come back from the dead is it?" Darien replied, keeping his tone casual.

"Yes," Stark mused, "I should have known killing you would prove more difficult than I originally anticipated, but who would have thought a cat's nine lives also extended to cat burglars? It's obvious my associate Dr Carter failed to take that into account when he suggested his 'foolproof' plan to get rid of you and I must say, I'm looking forward to finding the time to _educate_ him on that particular point."

"Why do I get the feeling it's not a lesson he's going to enjoy?" Darien asked in disgust, slowly rising to his feet.

"Oh, am I so transparent?" Stark answered in mock surprise. "As I think I've pointed out before, I do tend to favour the more disciplinarian methods when it comes to education and those who transgress don't tend to survive the experience, but I have found it motivates others to strive harder for success."

"I'll just bet it does," Darien muttered.

"Now, what to do with our unexpected guest," Stark went on, ignoring Darien's remark. "I think we've already proven meticulous planning doesn't seem to be the way forward where you're concerned haven't we? So, what say we go for the straightforward approach this time?"

"That works for me," Darien agreed with forced confidence. "You hand over Hobbes and let us walk out of here unharmed and I'll go to bat for you with the Official. I'm sure we can work something out about your daughter."

"Please spare me Darien! You don't exactly have a reliable track record when it comes to honouring our agreements do you?" Stark pointed out with a shake of his head. "In any event, I'm not interested in anything you have to offer. I was referring to my options for getting you dead by the most expedient method available and I believe a high calibre bullet to the brain will accomplish that _and_ take care of the quicksilver gland into the bargain." He held out his hand to the guard by Darien's side and was immediately handed a weapon without comment.

Stark's face took on an almost dreamy expression as his left hand caressed the barrel of the gun. "You know, we live in an ever more technologically advanced age where complex solutions are becoming commonplace, but when it comes right down to it, I'm beginning to develop an appreciation for some of the simpler time-honoured methods of solving problems." The smile spreading across his face had a distinctly maniacal quality to it. "Say goodbye Darien," he gloated as his finger tightened on the trigger.

"Now, now, now Jared, what have you been told about playing nice with the other kiddies?" came an admonishing voice from behind him.

Darien looked over to see his missing partner standing there incongruously clad in pyjamas whilst toting enough firepower to start a small war. "Hobbes am I glad…" he began, before a sudden impact to the back of his skull sent him screaming into oblivion.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"You freaking son of a bitch!" Hobbes howled, lunging forward as he watched his friend fall heavily to the ground. Cold fury coursed through him and he abandoned his weapons in favour of the satisfying feel of his hands snaking around the neck of the man who'd taken Darien down with a savage blow to the back of the neck. A well practised and decisive jerk of the man's head elicited a sickening, yet immensely gratifying crunch and Hobbes tossed the dead body aside without a backward glance. He immediately turned his attention to Stark who seemed momentarily stunned by the turn of events, but before Hobbes could push his advantage two more guards appeared and moved to flank their employer.

"Nice try Agent Hobbes," Stark said with a grudging appreciation of the skill he'd just seen demonstrated. "However, I would suggest you stand down now before my associates decide to mete out a little retribution of their own for the death of their friend."

Quickly assessing the options open to him, Hobbes realised he had no chance of taking out all three men and he reluctantly placed his hands behind his head in the universal sign of surrender. One of the guards moved forward to retrieve the weapons and restrain him whilst the other leaned forward to whisper something in Stark's ear. As he listened a look of annoyance flashed across Stark's face before he gave a curt nod and turned his attention back to Hobbes.

"Well Agent Hobbes, it appears movement has been detected around our perimeter," Stark informed him . "You don't think it could be a misguided attempt by your colleagues at the Agency to try and take my compound do you? Because if it is, I'm in no mood for uninvited guests crashing our little reunion party and I'm afraid I would have to take some rather unpleasant measures to prevent any intrusion."

Stark stared down at Darien who lay unconscious at his feet and asked almost petulantly, "What's it going to take to finally see you dead?" He gave an exaggerated sigh of resignation and continued speaking, a smile slowly spreading across his face, "Oh well, postponing the execution until I take care of this little problem has one benefit I suppose – having Darien awake and alert will make it more enjoyable when I finally pull the trigger. Seeing the expression on his face will be priceless!" He stood there relishing the thought for a moment before turning his attention back to the present and barking at the remaining guard, "Lock them up and make sure they don't escape. Inform everyone thermal goggles are mandatory." Then, ignoring Hobbes' murderous glare, Stark turned on his heels and strode purposefully away down the corridor.

The Official's orders to take no action following Darien's capture left Claire and Alex once again sitting impotently in the van watching events silently unfold. The camera in Darien's hat was still functioning and appeared not to have been detected, however the headset had immediately been confiscated and switched off, leaving them without sound. Their sense of foreboding grew to outright alarm when Stark levelled his weapon at Darien's head and Claire was just thinking she would prefer not to see what was coming next, when a pyjama clad figure appeared on the monitor. Her heart leapt - it was Bobby!

Suddenly the screen blurred as the camera fell abruptly to the ground. The image flickered like a guttering flame for a few seconds before stabilising to reveal a dead body, its lifeless eyes wide with surprise. Agonisingly nothing else was visible for what seemed like an age, leaving Alex and Claire to imagine their friends' fate. However, the hat was eventually plucked from Darien's head and discarded, changing the angle of the camera. All at once they had a clear view of Hobbes being marched down the hallway, Darien held securely in his arms and a gun in his back. As the group disappeared around the next corner Alex jumped to her feet.

"I'm not waiting any longer," she announced. "We've got to act now or there won't be any reason to go in there."

"You don't think Darien's already been shot do you?" Claire asked apprehensively, not really certain she wanted to know the answer.

"No," Alex replied decisively. "There's no sign of blood and at that range if Stark had pulled the trigger it would've been all over the place."

Claire let out a breath she didn't even realise she'd been holding and nodded. "What now?"

"All we need is a distraction that keeps them occupied long enough for me to slip through the fence and get to the tunnel," Alex said with more confidence than she felt.

"Yes, but what…." Claire began as she stooped to open the side door of the van to take a look outside. She paused for a moment catching sight of movement along the road approaching the estate. "I think Stark and his men are going to have their hands too full to bother about us in a few minutes," she said, pointing at the speeding black vehicles she'd spotted. From the urgent flurry of activity by the front gates, it was evident the visitors were not expected.

Bobby Hobbes paced restlessly around the small bedroom he and Darien had been unceremoniously dumped in and silently cursed their luck for about the hundredth time. Couldn't they ever get a break? He was just about to turn and head back to the door when he heard a moan from the figure sprawled on the bed. "Fawkes, you back with me kiddo?" he asked anxiously.

"Th-think so," Darien croaked, turning over and struggling to open his eyes. "How long was I out?"

"About ten minutes," Hobbes told him, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "How're you feeling?"

"I'll be fine once you take pity on me and cut my head off," Darien replied with a groan, his head pounding in tempo with his heartbeat. "You alright?"

"Oh just peachy," Hobbes groused, relaxing a little now Darien was awake. "I'm locked up in a house with the host from hell, a partner who spends more time getting knocked around than a crash test dummy and we're in imminent danger of getting our heads blown off, but other than that everything's fine!" He frowned down at his friend and demanded, "Dammit Fawkes, what was the Keep thinking letting the Official send you in here anyway? You're in no condition to be back in the field!"

"Um, well, Claire didn't really want me to come - I sort of ignored her and then before I knew it, that goon kinda snuck up on me okay?" Darien replied defensively. He looked ruefully over at Hobbes and admitted, "I think she's gonna rip me an new one when we get out of here." He pushed himself up into a sitting position and grimaced as the pounding inside his skull intensified. However, the pained expression soon turned to one of disgust as a thought struck him. "Oh man, you realise I'm never gonna forgive you for this don't you?"

"What, for saving your life again?" Hobbes asked with a confused look.

"No," Darien replied indignantly, "for messing up my rescue!"

"Ahh, is that what I did? Are you sure you haven't got a little brain damage there buddy 'cause the way I remember it you were just about to get spectacularly de-glanded all over the pretty wallpaper," Hobbes pointed out.

"Hey, I was about to swing into action and bring the suckers down hard when you turned up," Darien asserted. "I'm not saying I'm not glad to see you Hobbes, 'cause really, I am, but you've wrecked my whole 'I'm Darien Fawkes, I'm here to rescue you' speech."

"Huh?" Hobbes was seriously beginning to doubt his friend's sanity.

"You know – like the detention block scene in Star Wars with Luke and Princess Leia?"

"We gotta get you a social life buddy and stop you obsessing over late night sci-fi marathons on cable," Hobbes said rolling his eyes. "An' I hate to spoil this little fantasy you've got going but I'm way taller than Carrie Fisher and I ain't wearing a long white dress for you or anyone else!"

"Oh and let's not forget the hair man," Darien added with a smirk. "There's no way you could manage that style!" He emphasised his point by rubbing a hand roughly over the top of his partner's bald patch.

"Laugh it up fur ball!" Hobbes shot back with a mock growl, pulling himself out of reach.

"Nah, Han Solo said that to Chewbacca, not Luke," Darien corrected.

"Yeah? Well you're not standing where I am buddy. I bet Alex had you wearing that stupid woolly hat thing again didn't she?" At a puzzled nod from his friend he continued, "Well, it's done your mop no favours my friend!" The grin on Hobbes' face widened as Darien's hands instinctively flew up to his hair and started sculpting the dishevelled mess into its usual spiky fashion.

"I don't suppose you found a way out of here while I was napping did you?" Darien asked becoming serious again.

"Nope, looks like the door's the only way in or out," Hobbes replied. "How did you get in here any…." He stopped abruptly as a thunderous explosion from above interrupted any further explanation. "What the hell was that?" he exclaimed, quickly rising to his feet

"The cavalry?" Darien suggested hopefully, allowing himself to be hauled up to join his partner.

"I hate to disillusion you kid, but the Agency doesn't have that kind of firepower," Hobbes assured Darien as another huge detonation had them staggering.

"Well if it's not the good guys, who is it?"

"Very good question," Hobbes replied with a deepening frown.

"I want answers and I want them now gentlemen!" Jared Stark demanded, marching into the security control room a couple of minutes after the house had been rocked by the first explosion. "How did those inept Agency clowns find us?"

Two men who'd been sitting watching the bank of monitors ranged around the front of the room jumped to their feet at his entrance and looked over to their supervisor uncertainly. The supervisor stepped forward and reluctantly addressed Stark, "Unfortunately Agent Fawkes' capture led us to make a regrettable mistake in our initial assessment of the threat." He shook his head and admitted, "It's not the Agency Sir, it's Chrysalis."

"What! Is there anyone on this planet who _doesn't_ know were we are?" Stark roared, leaning forward to get a better look at the surveillance equipment. "Are you sure this time?"

"Yes Sir, absolutely," the supervisor confirmed. "We've seen three semis out there and I recognise the specs. They're the transports used for our…um, their specialist assault teams."

Stark quirked his eyebrow at the man's unintentional slip then asked, "Will our defences hold?"

"I believe so Sir. However, I do think it might be prudent to start evacuating essential personnel immediately."

"Agreed," Stark said with a nod. "You!" He pointed to one of the other men, "Go down to the residential quarters and collect Mrs Stark and my son. I want them at the helipad as soon as possible." Turning back to the supervisor he continued, "Contact Simmons and tell him I expect the helicopter to be ready to fly…."

"No, it can't be!" the supervisor cried, interrupting any further orders. He rushed across to get a better look at one of the monitors across the room and began frantically tapping at a computer keyboard. "The front gates are opening!" he exclaimed. Dramatically all the screens suddenly went blank as the power cut out and ended his attempts to keep everything online. He glanced back at the others and said in a stunned tone, "The defence system has completely shut down."

"Evacuate!" Stark shouted and headed for the door. "Tell anyone you meet to make their way to the Arizona complex, we'll regroup there!" Then, without any further comments to the other men he disappeared out into the hallway.

Darien and Hobbes stared at each other in surprise as the power suddenly cut out and seconds later the door to their room made a barely audible 'click' before silently swinging open. They stood there trying to work out what was happening. Finally Darien asked, "You don't think it's some kind of trick do you? Stark's twisted enough to play stupid mind games with us ya know."

"Yeah, we try and escape and he gets his kicks by hunting us down," Hobbes agreed. "Sick bastard!" He cocked his head to one side and listened. The explosions had stopped, giving way to the muffled sounds of automatic gunfire and panicked shouts. "I dunno though," he continued, "never look a gift horse an' all that…sounds like he's got his hands full to me." He peered out into the hallway to find it empty. "I think we should try for that tunnel you were telling me about kid, alright?"

Before he had a chance to answer, there was a disturbance somewhere close by and raised voices could be heard coming towards their room. Without even thinking, Darien pulled Hobbes back from the door and let the quicksilver flow. They made it to the far wall just as a burst of gunfire erupted and there was a loud thump just outside, signalling the death of one of Stark's men. Unhurried footsteps made their way along the hallway and stopped by the body.

"This is such a waste of resources," a tall redheaded man complained to his companion. "We could re-educate them."

"Not an option," the other man replied dispassionately. "Sharon insists no-one be left alive as a warning to anyone else who'd dare challenge her leadership. I just hope we find Stark and his spawn or there's going to be hell to pay." He gave a cursory glance around the bedroom before closing the door.

As the members of Chrysalis moved away, Darien let out a pained gasp and dropped to his right knee, quicksilver flying in all directions.

"Hey Fawkes, you okay?" Hobbes asked anxiously, bending over his prone partner.

"Oh man, I think I overdid the Saran wrap thing," he moaned, clutching the back of his neck and squeezing his eyes closed. He bit his lip to suppress a scream as another unbearable stab of pain sliced through his head and he toppled to the floor. All too slowly the pain began to recede and he was able to open glazed eyes to look up at his partner. B-Bobbeee, yoooou looook l-liiike an aaangel," Darien slurred. "G-glowing."

"C'mon buddy, we've gotta get outta here now before the bad guys come back," Hobbes urged. God, it never got any easier watching the kid go through these damned attacks and now he was hallucinating! "Do you think you can stand?" Without waiting for a reply he bent down and tried to pull his friend to his feet.

"Nooooo!" Darien shouted with a determined look on his face. He resisted Hobbes' efforts to help and struggled to rise by himself. "We g-gotta g-et J-James now!" Holding onto the wall for support he straightened up and started moving slowly but with purpose out of the room.

"What the hell is wrong with you Fawkes?"

"No time, no time…." Darien muttered to himself as he swayed and staggered along. He never paused and seemed to know where he was going as he unerringly led them through the house.

Hobbes battled to keep up whilst trying his best to cover their progress in case they encountered any hostiles. Everything seemed quiet where they were, with only the occasional muffled sound of sporadic gunfire. It looked like the action had moved outside. He was just turning from another glance behind him when he saw Darien disappear into a room ahead. As he reached the door Darien came staggering back out, his face as pale as death and his eyes full of horror. He collapsed onto his knees he began retching uncontrollably.

Giving Darien a concerned look, he cautiously made his way into the room to be confronted by a hellish scene. Blood covered almost every surface within what was obviously a child's bedroom and bodies littered the floor. Three suited members of Chrysalis lay near the door and over by the bed was the lifeless form of Eleanor Stark. She'd clearly put up a hell of a fight and he soon found the reason for her defiance. Partially hidden beneath her was the blood-soaked and un-naturally still form of a small child.

"Oh God," he breathed. How was he going to tell Alex?

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Feeling uncharacteristically hesitant Bobby Hobbes stepped further into the room and bent down to gently roll Eleanor Stark's body over until he could reach the child beneath. He carefully scooped up the small boy and held him close; he might not be able to reunite Alex with her son, but he'd damned well make sure she got some sense of closure by being able to bury him. However, as he made his way back out to Darien he felt a faint fluttering against his chest and the whisper of a breath against his neck. Hardly daring to hope, he moved to check for a pulse and could plainly feel a strong rhythmical throb against his fingers. James was still alive!

Hobbes laid the child back down on the floor and quickly searched for injuries. Finding only a messy flesh wound on James' right forearm and a large bump on the back of his head Hobbes breathed a sigh of relief. Eleanor Stark's attempt to act as a human shield had worked and the majority of blood soaking the boy's clothes was obviously hers. A hasty search through the drawers next to the bed revealed a small towel, which he deftly wrapped around the flesh wound before bending down to pick James up once more. Within seconds he was back in the hallway.

"Oh crap, we haven't got time for this," he muttered to himself as he took in the sight of Darien sitting cradling his head and rocking backwards and forwards. "C'mon Fawkes hold it together just a little longer kid, James is still alive and we gotta get out of here now!"

"What?" Darien croaked as he raised his head and confused brown eyes gazed blearily up at his partner.

"James is still alive buddy," Hobbes repeated urgently, "now come on, we gotta go!"

Darien stared in surprise for a few moments then roused himself enough to shakily climb to his feet. "How…?" he began.

"I'll explain later, just get moving," Hobbes insisted.

They hurried along the deserted corridors and soon found themselves in the wine cellar, but before they reached the hidden entrance to the tunnel Darien cried out in pain and fell to the floor clutching at the back of his head. Hobbes rushed over to him and watched helplessly as his friend endured this latest attack.

"C-can't go on," Darien eventually gasped when the pain ebbed enough for him to speak. "Leave me…get James out…"

"Not an option my friend. Get your scrawny ass in gear now and let's blow this joint!" Hobbes demanded, his concern making his tone gruff. Adjusting his hold on James, he took a firm grip of his partner's arm and attempted to drag him to his feet.

Darien resisted Hobbes' efforts and fell back to the floor. With his attention focused on the prone man in front of him, Hobbes didn't see the wine rack off to the left swing out from the wall and Claire emerge from the hidden tunnel, closely followed by Alex.

"Hobbes, we've got to get out of here now. We caught one of Stark's men outside and he says the whole place is rigged. It could blow any minute!" Alex panted. She stepped out from behind Claire and paused in shock when it suddenly registered that Hobbes was holding James in his arms. She lurched forward in alarm. "Oh my God, is he…?"

"No," Hobbes reassured her immediately. "Just a flesh wound and a bump on the head, that's all. Most of the blood's Eleanor Stark's. I'm sure he's gonna be fine." He leaned forward and handed the unconscious boy to her. "Here, take him, I've gotta help Fawkes," he said and turned back to Claire as Alex hugged her precious burden closer and made her way back outside.

"Hold his head," Claire instructed, quickly removing a syringe full of relaxant from her jacket pocket and injecting the contents into the gland. However, instead of relaxing Darien it was having no effect and his body continued to spasm in pain.

"N-not w-working…!" he cried out in despair, fighting the restraining hands of his friends to claw at the back of his head.

Claire looked over at Hobbes in concern. "Damn, I was afraid of this," she admitted as she held onto Darien in an attempt to offer comfort. "My tests on the gland have been throwing up some really strange readings and I suspected the toxin may have permanently affected it. The failure of the relaxant confirms my suspicions."

"Well, what are we gonna do about it?" Hobbes asked anxiously.

"I didn't have time to complete my tests and the only thing I could think of was to bring along a dose of the new formula. It's untested, but it might just work."

"Do it," Darien moaned desperately and Hobbes nodded in agreement. Needing no further encouragement, Claire swiftly took out a second syringe and administered the new relaxant. For a few seconds it looked like nothing was going to happen, then, as she withdrew the needle, violent tremors began coursing through Darien's body and he began screaming and writhing in agony.

"Oh hell!" Claire shouted. "Help me hold him down!" Before Bobby could move to get a better hold on his partner, Darien's body suddenly went limp and he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Is he okay?" Hobbes breathed.

"He's still breathing," Claire confirmed as she stood up. "Let's get him back to the van where I can get a better look at him, then we'll see."

"Right," Hobbes agreed grimly. As he carefully lifted Darien into his arms and followed Claire into the passageway he whispered, "Don't you dare give up on me now kid - we've been through too much together."

"Your guest has arrived Sir," a young woman's voice announced as she entered her employer's quiet office.

Stark looked up from the documents spread out on his desk and sombrely acknowledged her, "Thank you Janice. Show him in."

As the willowy blonde stepped to one side, Mark Carter strode past her and eagerly extended his right hand to Stark. "Jared!" he exclaimed in apparent relief, "I was so worried about you when I heard the news of the attack by Chrysalis. I couldn't believe it when I was told of your escape!"

Deliberately ignoring the proffered hand, Stark stared at the man before him, his face an expressionless mask. "Oh I don't doubt that for a minute Mark - after all, you've always prided yourself on meticulous planning."

"I…ah, I don't understand what you mean," Carter said, uncomfortably rattled by Stark's strange comments.

"Come now, we both know how disappointed you must be to find out I survived your little plot."

"Plot?" Carter squeaked, his voice climbing an entire octave in his surprise.

"Unfortunately my wife and son were not so lucky," Stark continued, his voice becoming harsh and accusatory. "The setback to my plans is incalculable and I simply cannot tolerate your betrayal."

Carter was speechless and stood silently in front of the desk, his mind reeling. How could Stark possibly know anything about his part in the attack on the estate? He was positive his secret negotiations with Sharon hadn't been discovered and he was equally certain no one could have seen him upload the computer virus that had deactivated the defence system. Hell, he'd even managed to slip out of the estate early on the morning of the attack without raising any suspicion.

In return for his help with the attack, Sharon had promised him a position within her inner cadre but the offer had been abruptly withdrawn following the shocking news that Stark had managed to elude them. Nevertheless, he'd been sure he could feign ignorance of any complicity and simply resume his duties as Stark's right hand man until the next opportunity for advancement presented itself. How could things have gone so wrong?

"I…I don't…." he stuttered, struggling to regain his trademark composure.

"Please spare me the 'I'm innocent' speech Mark, I really couldn't stomach it!" Stark spat contemptuously. "I believed in you, financed your work, gave you my friendship and you swore you could give me Darien Fawkes - and what did I get in return? You sold me out to that simpering French bitch and her cronies!" He shook his head violently and continued with barely controlled rage bubbling inside, "You killed my family Mark, just as surely as if you'd pulled the trigger yourself. My organisation's all but destroyed and it's going to take years to rebuild. But do you want to know what the real kicker is? Darien Fawkes is still alive!"

Carter was trembling uncontrollably now. There was no point trying to defend himself or in attempting to beg for mercy. He'd seen Stark like this before and knew without a shadow of a doubt only blood would satisfy him. Mark Carter was a dead man - it was just a matter of when and how.

Stark slowly reached down to open the drawer by his right hand and pulled out a .357 SIG. He placed the weapon carefully on the desk in front of him and looked up at his erstwhile friend. "Did you know that the going rate for employing a top class assassin to kill a nobody government agent is only $100,000? It's simply a one off payment on completion of the contract. No fuss, no mess. Sort of makes a mockery of all the millions I've poured into your failed schemes doesn't it?"

Here it comes, Carter thought as Stark's lips began to form the sneering smile that always heralded an act of violence on his part. "I'm extremely disappointed in your work Mark, so I'm afraid I have no alternative…." he began, slowly raising the SIG and pulling the trigger three times in quick succession. As Carter's dead body slumped to the floor Stark added, "Consider your employment terminated."

He carelessly hit the intercom button on the desk. "Janice could you please arrange for a clean-up crew to come to my office? I'm afraid my guest has made rather a nasty mess on the carpet."

"Hey Fawkes, you're looking much better than the last time I saw you," Alex Monroe called in greeting as he, Bobby and Claire made their way towards her across the well manicured lawns of the Agency's new safe house.

"Yeah, that new juice the Keeper cooked up has worked out just great," Darien replied enthusiastically. "No headaches, no dreams, no visions in almost three weeks!" He bent down to give her a quick hug and commented, "You're not looking too shabby yourself Monroe. This good clean Virginian air seems to be agreeing with you."

Alex appreciated the compliment but knew he was lying. She was eating well enough, but there were dark smudges under her eyes and her features were pinched and drawn from worry and sleepless nights. Her eyes wandered over to the cause of her concern to see a small, listless child sitting on the edge of a sandbox, his fingers absently sifting through the sand.

"How is James?" Claire asked quietly, following her friend's gaze.

"_Brandon_ James," Alex replied, emphasising the first name. The others looked at her in surprise and she shrugged. "He's lost so much, I couldn't take his name from him aswell and I'm sure the urge to cringe every time I say or hear it will fade eventually," she explained with a wry smile. "As to how he's doing…well I'm not really sure. We're working with a child psychologist and I think we're making some progress, but he's so quiet and self-contained. I don't know if he'll ever really trust me." She sighed unhappily, "He doesn't seem to need me most of the time and won't allow himself to be a little boy. The only time he lets me get close is when he wakes up from a nightmare - and then it's only for a few minutes." Alex's obvious distress radiated from her like heat. "He's not even three years old yet but they told him he's too old for hugs and if I find him playing with the toys in his bedroom he thinks I'm going to punish him!"

Darien felt anger rising within him as he imagined what the child's life must have been like with the Starks. Forcing himself to adopt a cheerful expression he said, "Looks like we arrived just in time then 'cause it seems to me the kid needs a few lessons in goofin' around and as you know, me an' '_Uncle'_ Bobby are experts in the field. We'll give him a few pointers and he'll be driving you nuts before you know it!" He grinned and started opening the box he was carrying. "It just so happens I've also brought along a secret weapon that's guaranteed to work," he continued, producing a small brown teddy bear with a flourish. "One of our guys found this at Stark's place and Eberts thought Ja…er, Brandon might like it back." Grabbing Hobbes' arm he started dragging him across the lawn and shouted over his shoulder to the two women, "Just leave it to the professionals!"

They watched as Darien introduced himself and Bobby to Brandon and held out the teddy bear. The little boy looked longingly at the toy and his hands fluttered nervously by his sides, however, he made no further move to take it. Claire squeezed her friend's arm as she felt Alex stiffen beside her. "It's early days yet," she said comfortingly. "Just give it time."

Alex nodded, watching Darien and Hobbes bantering with each other in front of the bemused boy and gestured for Claire to take a seat on the large wooden bench behind them. "How…how long can you stay?" she asked hesitantly. Melissa and her mum were also staying at the house until Stark was caught, as were a couple of agents who'd been assigned to protect them, but it felt good to see her friends again.

"Don't worry we've got plenty of time to catch up," Claire assured her. "The Official's given us two weeks off and we've been given permission to spend it here with you."

"You're kidding!" Alex said incredulously.

"What about?" Claire asked with a chuckle, "the Official giving us a vacation or the length of our visit?"

"Both!" Alex replied as if her answer should have been self-evident.

"Yes well, it's not really a very altruistic decision," Claire admitted. "Darien isn't due back at work for at least another couple of weeks and Bobby's been restricted to desk duty until he's fully healed." She gave another chuckle and went on, "To be perfectly honest, Bobby hasn't been in the best of moods without Darien around and he's been driving Eberts and the Official to distraction. I think the idea to send them on this little trip was a last desperate attempt to get him out of their hair, so to speak and where Darien goes at the moment so does his Keeper – hence a nice little holiday with you!"

"How is Darien?" Alex asked, absently watching the man in question fooling around with Hobbes.

"Oh, much better," Claire replied happily. "I was so worried when the old relaxant didn't work at Stark's house, but it was a bit of a blessing in disguise really. The new formula gave us a few hairy moments there for a while, but it worked beyond my wildest expectations. Darien's recovery time was considerably shortened and I'm hopeful it will work even faster once he's fully fit. He's been sleeping much better and hasn't had any disturbing dreams recently, in fact he's convinced the "new juice" as he calls it has stopped his psychic flashes for good."

The women were suddenly interrupted when a gurgling fit of giggles had them jumping in surprise. They looked over to see Darien deftly swinging a laughing Brandon up onto his shoulders and setting off to walk back up to the house. The small teddy bear, clutched tightly in small hands, took pride of place on top of Darien's head. It looked like the Fawkes charm was working.

"Hey you two," Darien called over to them, "me, Bobby, BJ and the bear are starving! How about ice-cream for everyone?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna sulk if I don't get at least four scoops," Hobbes pouted dramatically.

"BJ?" Alex asked, questioning the unexpected nickname with an appraising frown.

The small boy noticed her change in expression and his smile faded as he looked down at her uncertainly. "Do you like that name?" she asked gently, realising he'd misinterpreted her reaction. He answered with a tentative nod, trying to gauge her mood and she smiled. "Yes I do too," she said approvingly and was rewarded by the return of that all too rarely seen smile on the young face. It was a small step, but for the first time since being reunited with her son she allowed herself to hope. "Okay 'BJ' bring your friends and let's go see what we can find in the freezer. It looks like ice cream for everyone!"

"Alright!" Darien shouted, beginning to bounce the little passenger on his shoulders. "It's time to partaaaay!"

The laughing group turned as one and headed back to the house.

As the sun inexorably began to descend in the cloudless blue sky, a man lay patiently waiting for his prey to appear. He'd been there since early morning, but his years of experience had taught him that the secret to a successful hit wasn't just turning up and firing a rifle; it required patience and planning, learning the mark's routine and identifying patterns of behaviour before finally taking the shot. His current target had been extremely difficult to track down and had only recently moved to this location, but he'd taken his time and today the assignment would finally be completed.

Movement by the glass door at the rear of the house he was watching almost a mile away drew his attention and he abandoned his musings as cold professionalism took over. He adjusted the telescopic sight on his high-powered rifle one last time and flexed his aching muscles before settling down to take aim. A blonde haired woman stepped through the door into the garden and was immediately followed by the tall, dark haired man he was here to kill. Conditions were perfect. The sun's position meant there were no shadows to obscure his shot and he waited until the optimum moment before applying pressure to the trigger. The familiar recoil of the rifle against his shoulder confirmed the bullet had been fired and a quick check through the telescopic lens showed his victim lying dead on the grass outside his new home.

Grey flecked sandy hair was ruffled by a slight breeze as the assassin rose slowly to his feet and nodded in grim satisfaction. Throughout his career Mason Fawkes had taken no pleasure in taking lives, but this man had threatened his family and tried to murder his son. Justice had now been served and Jared Stark would rot in hell.

The End


End file.
